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gods-landing · 2 months ago

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what’s yours is mine (11/?)

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pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

“Ya sure y’er an Omega?” He’s sniffing at your neck, his nose directly against where the ‘scent glands’ are meant to be as you spread your arms out, chin tilted up and slumping your shoulder a little more to give him better access. “Maybe the paper’s wrong, cause,”

Another deep inhale.

“You don’t smell like anything.” You hear several more, purposefully loud breaths in, maybe a nudge of your arm and Gojo Satoru’s hand patting your shoulder before his head is lifted off and away.

“Then I guess Mama was right about the medicine working.” You perk up, satisfied with the result as you nod to yourself, proud hands on your hips as you stand before your friends.

(All 3 of them failed to smell anything. Well… Other than Shoko saying that you smelled like pretty laundry detergent.)

“If it’s working right, then Mama’s got nothing to worry about anymore!” Your cheers settle when you plop down next to a contemplating Suguru, opening your mouth and letting him feed you another cracker as you hum in delight.

“Then she’ll let me go and hang out with you all more often.”

Your Mama has been awfully protective for a while… No, you’re pretty sure she’s been extra protective ever since those test results were confirmed. So many trips to go see Dr. Homura, so many times they had to poke those needles into your arm, so many times you had to suck it up and drink yucky stuff in cups; before it switched over to swallowing pills.

(At least Dr. Homura isn’t stingy when it comes to treats. You’ve collected at least 4 different full-sized chocolate bars from her… And some smaller snacks from all the hospital staff who cooed at how cute you were.)

Alas, you don’t think you mind… Not all that much with the changes in your life, anyway. It must come with the responsibilities of being 12.

“Your neck needs to be covered.” Mama’s hands are gentle when she tugs your sweater up, fastening the button tightly and double checking that it was on securely as she readjusts it— For probably the nth time as you stood waiting by the front door for her to finish.

(It was in the middle of summer, but you’re willing to wear anything your Mama picks out for you.)

“…no. I can’t let you go swimming today.” Your eyes are downcast as your hopeful smile slowly fades, the brochure you were holding up in your hands slowly retracting alongside all your dreams of being able to cool down in this hot summer alongside your friends. You guess you won’t be able to check off the pool in Saya-chan’s ‘Ultimate Summer Planning!’ guide.

Mama’s touch is always soft. Delicate and always careful when she holds you close and hugs you tight late into the night. “You can’t tell anyone, okay?” Her eyes are serious as she holds your hand, only the whirring of the fan and the rustling of your soft futon heard alongside her quiet voice on this cool summer night.

“They don’t need to know.”

“Why’s your mama so worried anyway?” Shoko’s head is tilted to the side as she munches on another chip, a hand underneath cupping her chin as she stares at you, brown eyes lax and— Concentrated. “You have us around.”

“The dangers of being an Omega! Saya-san, have you ever experienced anything as scary as our viewer did?” The man— You don’t remember his name, but the funny glasses he wears, the slightly oversized suit he dons with that familiar label… That’s the new host of your favourite news talkshow, you’re pretty sure.

(And Saya-chan was as pretty as ever today.)

“My! It’s quite hard to say nowadays since my agency always provides me with plenty of bodyguards whenever I go outside.” She’s gentle when she laughs, demure with a hand over her mouth— The epitome of your perfect Saya-chan.

“Oh wow! What a protective bunch, eh?” He laughs too loudly, eyes crinkled too much and voice too rough for your liking. “Say, Saya-san, as one of the most sought after Omegas in the industry, do you think your fame was attributed solely because of your secondary gender?”

Hmph. What a rude man. You cross your arms and pout at the screen, clearly angry and glaring at the camera that had now panned towards his face. The last host was definitely more polite than he will ever be, and definitely 100 times better than he is, given the sudden quiet atmosphere.

“Ahaha, Yoshida-san…”

“I mean, come on! You’re a gorgeous woman Saya-san, and being an Omega on top of that! It’s almost like the system is working out a little too perfectly for you!”

You will never understand how some people can be so utterly, shamelessly rude.

“I think Mama’s just being cautious. She likes to prevent lots of stuff before something bad happens, you know?” Like how she spots dark clouds in the skies and rushes out to collect the laundry before even a speck of rain hits the ground, how she always warns you about your sugar intake— Before inevitably taking most of your sweets away before you get a cavity.

(Prevention is always better than cure. A hard lesson you finally understood when you got sick all those years back and missed out on one of the most important sport festivals ever.)

“Your mama’s right though,” Suguru pats your shoulder to make you turn your face, a cracker hovering near your mouth as you cheerfully; obediently part your lips to be fed another.

“It isn’t a bad thing to be too careful.”

——

“So? How much?” His foot is tapping against the ground, his lips humming dismissively as he writes a couple more ‘0’s at the back of the already too large number with his unsharpened pencil. “It’s still not a lot, but you usually give in by now cause ya get so stressed at the amount.”

It was just an accidental throwaway, something that left your head on a whim through the mishandling of the craft scissors.

“Ah.” It nicks you, an open cut right upon your finger as you stare on, not quite fully registering the pain as you watch beads of red coalesce. It stings slightly, makes you flinch back when you finally register that this was supposed to hurt— And that you should not be debating which ones of your funky bandaids would look nice on it.

You know this. It was like that scene in the drama that plays just before the daily nighttime reports, just like that one scene when the main character gets a ‘life threatening, disfiguring’ injury upon their beautiful face— They’d say their one line as tragic music plays and the director cuts to an angle that made the ‘loss’ of their still very apparent beauty all the more dramatic.

“Now nobody will ever marry me!”

(You always wanted to say that, really. So dramatic, so flamboyant…)

Just that you said it with a lot less emotion, no tears, a lot less actorly and as a quiet whisper underneath your breath and solely for your own amusement.

You didn’t think that anyone would actually hear your silly little scene.

“I’d marry you.” His eyes are already meeting yours, the shine in his azure gaze something so clear, so much so that you aren’t unfamiliar with what you’re looking at as face off against full-on seriousness and feel an undeniable, unshaken will.

And that honestly gave you more questions than why they don’t try to disfigure the pretty actors enough for them to actually look like they had something actually terrible to them. Mama was right about drama quality going down these days.

(So what’s a little challenge to your ever all-knowing Satoru?)

“What if I had acid burn off all my skin and I become a zombie?” Your arms cross and press against yourself just in case, hugging and patting against skin that you hoped would stay on for a long, long time. It sounds painful to even imagine losing it.

“I’d get someone to reverse curse technique your skin back on.” He huffs as if you were stupid, his cheeks puffed up momentarily and his eyes glaring, as if annoyed at your question.

(How dare you try to question him?)

“What if I lost both my eyes and can’t see?” It’s honestly a real fear of yours. You quite like your eyes— Quite like being able to sit and quietly admire your friends, your Mama, the people around you… Especially when they think you aren’t looking.

“Duh. Whaddya think my technique’s called Six Eyes for? I can see more than enough for the both of us, dummy.”

(Makes sense. Satoru really is smart.)

“What if I wanted a lot, a lot, a lot of money and it’s more than you can afford?” Because… Do rich people ever run out of money? Maybe you’ve just been watching too many news reports about million, billion, trillionaires losing their fortunes after being outed for fraud.

(Maybe you have been watching too much television. At least you learned that you should ‘freeze your assets’. If your freezer can even hold all your savings, anyway.)

One blink. Maybe two. You see him think about it momentarily, a hand on his chin contemplating your words… Before he grins again, his brows quirked up in amusement and his voice dripping with the ego that he had always possessed.

“I’d laugh cause y’er too smart to think that would actually ever happen.” He even ends haughtily, all smug grin and crossed arms, narrowed eyes and simply radiating confidence that nobody would dare to trump.

“But if it’s money ya want, how much? I can probably give ya enough to make you be my friend forever.”

(He’s Gojo Satoru, after all. Who exactly did you think you were talking to?)

“Don’t ever let anyone buy you over to marry you.” Suguru holds both of your hands in his— Or was it more accurate to say that he gripped them tight; squeezed them with an affirmation paired with a look so serious? Regardless of it, he was so gentle, so soft. Your Suguru is always so lovely. “You deserve more than that.”

(“And definitely more than that greedy vacuum.”)

“Hey! Don’t listen to the guy with Weird Bangs! He looks shady for a good reason!”

“Don’t listen to the ugly snowman with no morals!”

——

Ieiri Shoko thinks she enjoys her elementary school life, no matter how rundown, not at all high class, near peasant-level her school looked and felt. No matter how childish she thinks the sailor uniform was, no matter how this new school’s cafeteria’s food tasted.

It was almost pitiful, makes her think that she had picked the wrong choice, given that this was her second public school and it was all still so… Plain.

The teachers are average. Painfully average. Skills, materials, passion— It was all very lacking, always left her expecting more. Wasn’t it odd? Wasn’t it off? That someone of her caliber, that her, an Ieiri, was attending a public middle school?

She wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for how almost the entirety of high-society Jujutsu families whispering about how a Gojo chose to attend public school.

Muttering under their breaths about how it was preposterous, about how inappropriate for someone of their social standings to be delegated to some no-name brand of a school. A school that was painfully ordinary, at that.

Perhaps that was the pushing point. The fact that Gojo Satoru’s actions got under their skin, pricked at their painfully boring thoughts and pierced through their closed-off mentality that Ieiri Shoko decided… That it sounded fun.

And that was all, really. She’s lucky her parents don’t care too much, lucky that she could ask for whatever and get it placed into her open palm with just a single request. Especially when that request was to transfer to the same elementary school as her once-almost-fiancé, Gojo Satoru.

(Who would deny it? Perhaps her parents even thought that she finally had an interest in the snowy-haired prodigy.

Ha. Not even in a million years.)

Of course, the plan was to just have a little look-see and tour this unfortunate looking place that the spoiled Gojo kid found so interesting.

She didn’t expect to find that she actually enjoyed her time here, not when she was actively swatting off the pesky flies that tried to bother her short little respite here.

Here. As in, the back of the classroom where she could read all the manga she could to her liking— Because who wouldn’t like this breathing space away from stuck-up tutors and high-strung educators who were needlessly strict?

She wasn’t supposed to talk to anyone. Not that she wanted to anyway, but it makes her feel better to at least think like she was actually trying.

…so what exactly was she doing here with you, the one directly connected to the boy she just couldn’t stand?

“And this is the playground! Satoru doesn’t like strangers here, but you don’t count cause he already knows you.” You’re… Touching her. Holding her hand like it was nothing as you pointed at the most obvious playground equipment anybody would know the names of.

It’s stupid.

“I like to c’mere a lot to think by myself.” You hum, settled comfortably on top of the slide as you lean back, your knees to your chest as you close your eyes and enjoy the summer breeze. “Especially nowadays when Satoru’s too busy with some stuff and Suguru’s got martial arts club.”

Weird. You’re weird. Don’t you know that both of them are very obviously cursed technique users? Does she have to spell it out for you? Why are they even—

“So I hope you don’t mind hanging out with me, Ieiri-san.” The sunlight catches in your eyes, your skin warmed by light rays that made you look like you were glittering under the setting sun’s orange glow. “I’m happy that you even want to talk to me.”

Yet, she thinks that it might not be so bad after-all, not when you’re sleeping on her lap, your head positioned on her thighs and her hand in your hair upon this familiar, very expensive wooden bench— That she got her maids to put pillows on.

(Just to outdo Gojo Satoru. Nothing else, really.)

“She looks comfortable.” Geto Suguru is sat close. Right by your other side as you continued to sleep, your breaths quiet and your eyes closed in such undisturbed serenity that it just felt wrong to wake you.

“That’s cause she is.”

“She could’ve slept on my shoulder.” It’s out as an almost huff, another flip of the page of the book he was reading as all of you sit together in serene peace.

“But she chose mine.” It satisfies her to know that she’s got the upper hand in this situation, that she has an advantage over the boy whose emotions she can never properly discern.

“It was just the angle, Ieiri.” Suguru huffs, eyes flippantly glaring at the words of the book he was meant to be reading— Before they met smug coffee-brown. “You don’t have to look that proud.”

“Sad that you weren’t the 1st pick?”

“You wish.”

Ieiri Shoko wouldn’t say that there was nothing between her and the other… Commoner. Wouldn’t say that she disliked or liked him just yet, for even she was confused on how a bond somehow ended up forming between them despite him, Geto Suguru not being up to par in terms of family standing or wealth.

(But with that cursed technique and natural talent for Jujutsu… No wonder he too took the Jujutsu society by storm, especially when it was discovered that the Gojo family had started training him.)

It was a solidarity formed simply by them being the sanest ones out of your little quadruple. Well, sane and actually cohesive when he was separated from the Gojo menace, anyway. Don’t get her wrong, you were cute, even had a good head on your shoulders— But you were far too easily swayed when it came to your friends.

It was almost scary how trusting you were of them.

“…if I ate it, I’ll really get better at using cursed energy…?” You’re staring at the green pepper clasped in between his chopsticks, hands subconsciously clasped over your mouth in protective defense as you watch the utensil hover near you.

And Geto Suguru was just far too practiced for you. A soft smile, his pretty purple eyes hidden behind upturned eyelids, head tilted so innocently to the side with his hair gently swishing along and exuding an air far too mellow for this situation.

“That’s right.”

(And Ieiri Shoko thinks that you’re kinda dumb, honestly. If being dumb in a good way existed, anyway.)

Maybe, only when the pinks and oranges in the clouds gather and start to hide the setting sun… That this thinks that this type of menial life wasn’t so bad afterall.

Ieiri Shoko thinks she really will enjoy her school life here, no matter how much the upper echelon of people will criticize her.

——

You’re 13 when you’re trying to sew the rip in your middle school uniform, the unfortunate tear a direct consequence of accidentally falling on your face and getting saved by a panicking classmate who was not at all very gentle with tugging at the collar of your poor sailor blouse to save you.

(Beggars can’t be choosers, you suppose.)

It’s unfortunate, very much so as your eyes narrow and glare at the 3rd time you pricked yourself with a needle that didn’t want to agree with you.

(It’s definitely out to get you.)

The sound of jingling keys and the familiar way your door swings open thankfully saves your slightly mangled uniform from getting just that little bit more tattered.

The front door always creaks a little, always squeals a little too loud as you turn your head to meet familiar eyes that continue to smile regardless of fatigue, the sound of tumbling heels and a bag getting plopped onto the genkan’s old shoe cabinet.

“Mama, welcome back.”

Throughout the years, you don’t think you’ve ever been lonelier within your now slightly less empty home. You suppose it’s because when you’re older, you have to get newer stuff too. Just to match your age and the ever-changing times that the old people on TV are always complaining about.

There’s a new carpet, one softer than any of the ones you used to own. A new coffee table that didn’t shake every time your knee even grazes it wrong— And a new fancy coffee machine that Mama had been using a little too much.

(Courtesy of Geto-mama. She said it was to thank the both of you for being ‘such great neighbours’ and that ‘she hopes that you stay her neighbours forever’ with tears in her eyes.

Mama says it might be because Geto-mama’s rut was coming soon around that time.)

Mama even has a brand new, shiny job as an office lady. From a waitress running around an izakaya to a corporate worker who sat in an office chair all day.

You think it’s quite the Cinderella story in itself.

‘Never belittle your achievements, for a small step forward is still progress made!’

(You honestly liked her doing the waitressing one better. She came home at reasonable times, had some weekdays off and even brought extra food home.

Life was good when you could stuff yourself on the too many yakitori sticks she brought home.)

But everything comes to an end, you suppose. So you hope these aches Mama always gets in her shoulders do too as your hands knead into her back, little grunts escaping you as you really put your back into it.

“Ugh… How was— School today, sweetie?” Your mother sighs when you get another knot out, releasing her stiff shoulders when you press just right.

(An expected question. It was the 1st day of your new middle school after all.)

“I don’t like the uniform.” It’s slightly itchy, smells weird despite the wash in your slightly old washing machine and it wasn’t as cute as the ones you saw in all the animes you watched on TV. “It’s kinda uncomfortable.”

All because it was new. Oh, that and the unfortunate fact that your mother requested your skirt to be so long— Especially with the approaching summer soon to come, teasing stuffy, hot days and sweaty clothes.

(You don’t mind too much. Saya-chan says miniskirts are not in her top 3 favourite things to wear, after all.)

“Hmm…” She doesn’t give much of a reply, her back relaxing back into the couch and her shoulders stiffening a little more from her actions as you continue.

“The new medicine Dr. Homura gave me tastes funny too. It’s not as sweet as last time.”

You think for a little. Just a little, because this situation just requires too much of your careful attention.

“But I think it’s working okay. Suguru says I usually just smell like normal.”

“Suguru,” You tug on his sleeve, fingers having a death grip upon his uniform as you swallow. Nervously shifting your weight from a leg to the other as you hurriedly tug off the strap of your backpack, shifting your hair back as you reveal the side of your neck to him.

It only hits you now that you both were standing before the big gates of Gege Junior High, only hits you when your palms felt wet and uncomfortable, damp and nervous.

Because what if your medicine didn’t work and you somehow reveal the 1 thing Mama wanted you to keep under wraps?

“Check me again, please…” Your eyes feel like they’re going dry, pure anxiety coursing through you all at once.

Just to sate your worries.

“You shouldn’t ask just anyone to check like that,” There’s a hand on your shoulder to steady you, black strands of hair tickling your cheek as you subconsciously hold your breath.

You’re stiff when his nose grazes your neck, gently swiping against your skin as he leans in close, leans in near. His body feels so warm when there’s barely any distance between you, he smells of citrus, of lavender sprigs and soft vanilla.

“Okay?”

“Mm… Oh, and Satoru woke up late so he wasn’t even there for the opening ceremony.” He doesn’t really come to school anymore, so it was a pretty big deal when he showed up with a bedhead and bleary eyes behind a pair of sunglasses.

(And attracted a lot of attention.)

“Hmph…” He’s obviously tired, yawning with a lazy hand over his mouth as he leans on Suguru’s shoulder, a spot of drool making its way down his lip as fingers surreptitiously position themselves to flick at his forehead.

“Ow…” He barely even reacts even when Suguru hits, doesn’t even get up— And even purposely drops his body weight onto the poor boy’s sturdier form.

“Satoru— You idiot, wake up.” It’s hissed, annoyed. Yet lacking all the bite it was supposed to have as Geto simply lets the spoiled Gojo continue to do as he pleases… Albeit at his own detriment, given the eyes that were pinned onto the overtly close childhood friends.

“Serves ya right, ugly bangs…”

Middle school is gonna be okay, you think.

——

“(last name)-chan! I didn’t know you were so close with Geto-san!” You hear a dragging of a chair, only able to blink twice before there’s a sin

“Ah, huh?” You’re confused as you halt the search for the poor textbook that you were so sure you had packed last night after Suguru reminded you through the window.

(And that you were sure you hadn’t lent it to Satoru.)

But… How did she know?

“Hm? He came by yesterday to drop off something of yours, didn’t he? Even called you by your first name and everything.” You can hear the clatter of her chopsticks, the sounds of her plastic utensils getting unpacked. “You both must be quite close to be like that!”

“Or maybe… I’m wrong?” You see something diminish in her eyes, something akin to a sudden flicker of disinterest as her feet steady themselves as if they were about to leave.

“Uhm… No, I guess you’re right. We are friends,”You say it so matter-of-factly, so nonchalantly as your eyes zoom about near the collar of her uniform.

Ya- Yamo— No, it probably wasn’t that. Something different, something else. Luckily for you, these uniforms came with name tags.

“Mi— Jou-san?” Your eyes squint at the small tag, the bright blue contrasting against the navy of your uniforms, proof that you were all 1st years in junior high.

“Mhm!~ I didn’t expect anyone to be so close with those star students! Didya meet ‘em in elementary or something?”

‘Star students’. Classes were separated based on how well each individual did on the entrance exams. Divided in terms of academics, segregated based on performance.

Truly, this was the epitome of meritocracy, you think.

(But being 2 classes down from your friends does seem a little much, in your opinion.)

“Hello?~ Are ya there?” Her hand waves you back into focus, realization striking you when your eyes flicker from her name tag— To her brown eyes— Then to the whiteboard with the class schedule written down.

Your (still missing) textbook.

“You’re gonna go see them?” Her voice teeters on a tremor, a clear sparkle in her eyes and a vibration in her tone that you just can’t ignore.

“An opportunity to be nice doesn’t hurt anyone! Today, your lucky colour is blue to correct the amount of redness in today’s luck! Watch out for yourself, do good deeds and stay cautious!”

You suppose it doesn’t hurt if Suguru knows he has a fan.

——

It’s only the 5th day of the beginning of middle school life— And Gojo Satoru thinks he’s going to burst from irritation had it not been for the innocent look in your eye and the confused tilt of your head.

“Satoru? Are you okay?” A cold bar of pinkish-red ice cream appears in front of him, waving around and beckoning him to have a taste— As he just stares on with a frown.

“Maybe he’s constipated.” It’s uncommon for him to be this disinterested, this unhappy— Especially at the sight of sweet treats.

(And Geto Suguru already knows exactly what’s on his mind.)

“Do you not like the watermelon flavour after all?” You’re now despondent, shoulders slumping as you stare down at the ice cream you had gotten at the nearby convenience store after Satoru had slapped a ¥1000 bill in your hand, cheeks flushed red and claiming;

“Ya can get anything ya want.” He pushes his palm through his hair as he averts his gaze, shy, but so huffy and embarrassed as you smile at him in gratitude. “M’ sorry for not comin’ for so long.”

Gojo Satoru doesn’t mind. He shouldn’t have minded at all, really. You’re just trying out a new flavour of ice cream, right? Just trying to change it up a little and be more adventurous, aren’t you?

(Wrong. And he was pretty sure you’ve never even spared a glance at this brand of ice cream in your life, especially when he’s given you tons more of more expensive ones that you most definitely like better.)

And Gojo Satoru doesn’t mind that you’re suddenly interrogating him on ‘his type’. Doesn’t mind that you look at him with that cute curiosity in your eyes and a nod of your head as you— Don’t even try to hide the fact that you’re writing it all down in a notebook that was most definitely your ‘diary’.

(Trust him. He’s even straight up asked you to let him read it… Only for him to find logs about food, Saya-chan, anything you’ve been watching on TV recently—

And nothing juicy at all.)

“Do you think long or shorter hair is cuter, Suguru?”

The noiret’s eyes blink once before they flicker towards your own hair length, only staring for a few seconds before he was back to smiling.

“I think your length would be the most ideal.”

Hah. What a kiss-up.

(Not like he was any better.)

“Do you think twintails are cute, Satoru?” You poke at his cheek as he sits next to you, ads running on your old TV as you both await the continuation of the newest Pokemon episode.

“They’re ugly.” He huffs through a bite of chocolate, eyes turning towards you to offer you the bar as he sees your hands reach up to your own hair— And imitating said hairstyle.

“Really?” You turn to look at him with the proposed hairstyle, causing him to nearly choke as you close your eyes and think a little. “I always thought they were cute though.”

“T-They look fine, I guess.” But only on you.

“What’re ya even gathering all this useless info for anyway?” The watermelon popsicle is already in his mouth, red staining his tongue and teeth as he bites down on the cold treat— The artificial sweetness mixing strangely with the poison on his tongue. “Ya don’t think we like you enough?”

He doesn’t like this at all. Not one bit.

“No,” You begin once more as you hum, your ice cream sandwich half-eaten as you offer a bite to Suguru. “I’m learning trends.”

…what?

“Mhm.” You nod— Innocently.. “You know Mijou? The one you both met a few days ago?” The annoying one who couldn’t stop gawking, yeah, Satoru’s pretty sure he knows her, given how taken she was by him.

(“Shoko doesn’t like her.”

“That’s cause Shoko doesn’t really care about most people.”)

He remembers the way she tried to cut into every conversation, every word from you getting lapped up like a camel to water, remembers the way her smile was too tight, too forced— As if she desperately wanted to jam a puzzle piece into somewhere it just didn’t belong.

(He should be alarmed, should be annoyed. The energy this girl was radiating was sinister, was unfortunate. Yet, he knows she doesn’t even possess enough cursed energy to see cursed spirits.)

“She wants to know more about you guys too.” A nod to your testament as you

“I’m sure she’s nice, but,” Suguru cuts in, thankfully— With his tone of bluntness and so straight to the point. “I’d prefer knowing I’m hanging out with you and not someone else.”

(Did you really have to look surprised? They both knew you like the backs of their hands.)

“Oh.” Your eyes look to the ice creams and back to purple eyes. “Sorry, I just… Thought that you might like her a little more if you both knew some of her favourite things…”

(He’s pretty sure you’ve learned that from that talkshow you listen to every damn morning.)

“What’s got ya so interested in her till this point, anyway? Ya plannin’ to make friends with her or something?”

“…no, I don’t break my promises, Satoru.” No matter how childish and long ago they were. Yet, you blink at them as if something was wrong, as if you were distraught and confused. As if you don’t really get why they don’t understand yet.

“But cursed energy… Is made of negative emotions, right? And if they accumulate enough overtime, it can cause a cursed spirit to be born.”

“Yea. Y’er point?” Gojo Satoru is getting tired of this, and his mind begs, pleads with him to just tell you to stop trying to make them like friends such a desperate weirdo.

“(name).” Suguru cuts you off, realization peaking in his eyes as his mind catches on far too quickly for Gojo’s liking— He never fares well when it came to thinking about others, after all. “You’re not saying that you think—“

“She’s… Lonely.” There’s something flaring up in your eyes alongside your innate strength, a glow of power that Satoru’s never really seen before. “She says her parents are never really home and that she’s happy she gets the house to herself in the afternoons.”

“I-It just looks like it’s just been stewing for a really long time, since she says she gets reoccurring nightmares and night terrors. She doesn’t have enough cursed energy to see it, but—“ You take a breath in as you continue to ramble. “I could be wrong and it could just be something else… But I just have a feeling that she needs help…”

“That’s what being a Jujutsu Sorcerer is, isn’t it?”

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gods-landing · 2 months ago

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FEELIN' LUCKY || GETO SUGURU

Suguru has a reputation of a playboy — and rightfully so. He likes to change girls, bedding them as he pleases. He thinks he can have them all. He's a player, a red flag and you show him he's wrong. It's a story about a boy who has everything but craves to have you.

contains: frat boy!satoru x nerdy!reader, pining, maybe a little slowburn-ish, flirting, smut (unprotected sex, some body worship, mentions of hooking up, booty calls, sexting), wc. 9420 ⋯ reader discretion is advised

kinktober '24 masterlist || art in the header: @/chu-cho on tumblr

Suguru knows how to navigate around the campus. He’s tried all the shortcuts, been on all the parties, talked (and fought) with all the teachers. He’s known around — troublemaker, a frat boy, a heartbreaker. It’s no news to anyone that Suguru Geto is a red flag personified; a ladies’ man, playing with every beauty he deems worthy of attention. And he’s lucky too, girls tend to love him, all of them. After all, bad girls love bad boys and good girls, unfortunately, do too. He’s a flame that attracts all the moths, a sin that tempts and renders every heart helpless. He’s a siren song luring women towards their doom. The ultimate playboy, reveling in the attention he gets everywhere he shows up, soaking it up like a cat basking in the sun.

It’s unfair, he jokes sometimes, when he aims to add another notch to his bedpost. Unfair how easy it is for him to have what he wants, how all that meets his gaze is heart-eyes and flushed cheeks. But he likes it, he likes to take, he likes to be wanted and pick from the crowd. It boosts his ego. He is, after all, drop dead gorgeous. He is, truly, with his long, raven hair and purple glint to his eyes, all surrounded by an air of sexy danger coming from his piercings, his clothes and the way he acts.

“Who’s that?” He wonders, mind rushing through the extensive catalogue of female students he knows. “She’s new.” Clearly. He doesn’t know you yet.

You’re pretty, too pretty for him to let you go just like that. You came to the party at the frat house, but you don’t seem to fit right in. Maybe you’re a transfer student? Or a friend of someone? It doesn’t look like you’re someone’s girlfriend. A man that’s sane would not let you wander around such place alone. Not in that dress. You’re gorgeous, breathtaking. You make Suguru’s heart beat a little bit faster, his pulse quickening and he can hear it in his ears, a steady thump echoing over the sound of music. It’s excitement — something he has not felt in a long time.

His friends say something. He’s not listening, eyes laser focused on you and only you. You move with grace, your hips sway from side to side like a pendulum as you find your way through the crowded living room. Your cup is empty, it’s clear from the way you tap it with your fingernail every time someone tries to stop you — you’re pointing on it, gesturing your intentions as you try to speak over the loud music and blurring chatter. You seem polite too, the way you smile brightens the area. He likes how it reaches your eyes, how your nose scrunches a little and the skin near your temples crinkle. Everything about you is hypnotizing, you know what you’re doing. You have to know what you’re doing. You’re magnetic and he wouldn’t be able to resist even if he wanted to.

He doesn’t.

You push through the crowd and Suguru follows, a predator stalking its prey. You are, after all, like a sweet little rabbit tonight. His eyes never leave your back, watching the way your hair sways and bounces with each step you take, how the fabric of your dress hugs your delectable curves. You look soft, he’d love to touch you, to squeeze those plush thighs, to feel the pliable flesh of your rear, to have your chest squeezed against the hard planes of his muscular torso. He wonders how soft your skin is under the fabric, if it’s smooth and warm to touch. He wants to find out, to explore every inch of it until he maps out every mole, scar and birthmark. He licks his lips subconsciously, his tongue swiping over the piercing in his lower lip and he wonders if you’d like it — if the cold metal decorating his mouth would be something you’re into.

He catches you in the kitchen. You’re holding a can of strawberry flavored soda and looking around, and he knows what you’re searching for. “Hey there, beautiful,” he greets smoothly, flashing you a smile that’s known for making girls weak in the knees. “Allow me,” he reaches, taking the cold metal from your hands — his fingers brush against yours as your eyes met, the touch lingering a little longer than necessary but he’s content as he swiftly opens the can for you, earning himself a chuckle.

He’s already got you.

“Thank you,” you smile, taking the drink back and filling your cup with the pinkish liquid. It smells sweet, the delicate aroma of artificial fruit breaking through the typical mixture of sweat and alcohol that fills the room. It’s refreshing, the scent, the look of bubbles dancing at the edges of your cup. You take a sip, tasting the flavor on your tongue and he wants to try it too. From your lips, preferably. Those glistening, cherry-colored lips. Oh, you look delectable.

“I’m Suguru,” he grins again, his eyes scanning your breathtaking features and committing the picture to memory. “I don’t think we’ve met before.” He already envisions you below him.

“I doubt that too,” you nod and you know he’s attracted to you. It’s clear from the way he looks at you, eats you with his eyes only. Obvious from how his gaze lingers on your lips a little longer than he should but you allow him. You introduce himself too and he repeats, testing the name on his tongue.

“What brings a gorgeous woman like you to our little shindig?” He extends his hand out to shake yours, his thumb brushing over your delicate skin as his touch lingers.

“I got invited by one of my friends but I can’t seem to find her in this crowd. I’m sure she’s having fun somewhere though, it’s alright,” you explain, briefly looking over the students crowded in the main area of the house. Most of them are drunk already despite the quite early hour but you don’t mind it. A frat party is exactly what you expected it to be. “I wouldn’t honestly dare to call this a little shindig.”

Suguru chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Well, I suppose ‘little’ was an understatement,” he grins and sips on his own drink. “How do you like it so far? Do you enjoy the mingling masses and blasting music or maybe I could steal you away? My room is just upstairs.” His eyes flick down to your lips once more before meeting your gaze again, a hint of mischief dancing in their violet depths. One step closer and he’s invading your personal space just slightly. “Because I could show you a good time, if you’d like. Just the two of us, away from all that noise and chaos,” he finishes a little quieter, a little lower. His tone is meant to seduce, to tempt you and he knows it always works. In his mind, he’s already alone with you, he imagines tracing your curves as he trails kisses along your jawline. His touch feels electric against your skin and you have to give him that — he sure does know how to get the attention he wants.

“I appreciate the offer, but I came here for the noise and the chaos,” you reply, smiling as your hand finds his wrist in a gentle caress meant to put some distance between his fingertips and your skin. “It’s not every day I get to attend a party such as this one,” that said, you’re ready to retract when his free hand meets the curve of your hip. You hear a hum and he’s suddenly much closer, you feel his breath on your lips, a mixture of mint and something strongly alcoholic. A little sweet too. A coke, maybe. There’s warmth bouncing off of him, one that you feel tingling on your skin when he leans down to meet your height. The tip of his nose teases yours before it moves to the side, running over the lines of your cheekbone.

“Are you sure?” He asks, smirking as he waits for your resolve to crumble. Not a single girl before you had resisted his charms and you surely are not going to be the first. He enjoys the challenge you present. Most girls would have melted under his touch but you remain composed. He likes that. He likes a woman who knows what she wants. “We could make our own noise, create our own chaos.”

“I’m content with all that’s happening here,” you hum, slipping out of his embrace. “Thank you for the company, Suguru. It was nice to meet you,” and you’re gone.

He stands there, dumbfounded. He stands there, once more looking at your back and he cannot believe what happened. A bunny that slipped from the hands of a wolf, girl that rejected Suguru’s charms, A moth that said no to the flames of his lust. A challenge he’s not going to pass on.

He smirks.

Before, he just wanted to have you.

Now, he has to have you.

And he will do whatever it takes.

Over the next weeks, Suguru has not given up. He hasn’t been able to get you out of his head, his interest in you hasn’t diminished; if anything, it’s grown stronger with each passing day. He’s determined to unravel the enigma that is you, to uncover the secrets hidden behind your captivating eyes and sweet smile. There’s something about you that made him desperate. A mystery he cannot quite unravel, a puzzle he can’t solve. And he thinks of you. He finds himself lost in thoughts of you more often than he’d care to admit. He spots you around campus occasionally, always looking effortlessly stunning and each time, he feels that familiar pull, that undeniable attraction that draws him to you.

Maybe it’s him, who’s the moth.

He doesn’t like this. How you always brush his advances off, how sweetly you smile while doing so. Every time he wants to touch you, you slip right through his fingers. You have tainted him with longing he has never felt before, you ruined him. He doesn’t want other women anymore, the line of booty-calls and flings blocked and removed from his phone. The nights he spends thinking of you, fucking his fist and swearing to all gods above and below to change, asking for a chance to sink his teeth into you. Because he doesn’t want anyone else. And he doesn’t know what you have done to him.

“Fancy seeing you there,” he remarks, settling himself beside you on the bench outside the library. The afternoon is particularly sunny, warmth caressing your skin as you sit comfortably, engrossed in a book. “Mind if I join you?” He asks, but he doesn’t wait for the response, as he leans over to glance at the title of your read. “Ah, philosophy. A deep thinker, huh? I like that.”

“Do you?” You ask, nudging a bookmark between the pages. “You don’t strike me as a philosophical type. You seem to me more of a live-in-the-moment kinda guy.”

He chuckles. “You’d be surprised,” he replies, his tone light and teasing, “there’s more to me than just good looks and undeniable charm. Although, I won’t deny that those are pretty great assets,” he winks playfully. Suguru leans back on the bench, stretching his long legs out in front of him. The ripped, black denim exposes a bit of his thigh, the ink of his tattoos peeking through the dark threads, drawing your attention.

“Oh, the confidence. It’s much more valuable trait than the outside looks,” you hum, leaning against the backrest too.

Geto laughs, a rich, warm sound that carries easily in the quiet outdoor setting. Then, he turns to face you fully, his expression turning serious for a moment. “But you’re right, I’m not usually one for heavy books and deep discussions. I prefer to keep things light and fun.” It’s a confession, he admits to it with a hint of vulnerability that’s quickly pushed behind his typical grin. “Besides, a guy can learn a thing or two from a smart, beautiful woman like yourself.” He flirts, but there’s an underlying sincerity to his words. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Tell me, what’s so captivating about this particular tome? What insights does it hold to have captured your attention so thoroughly?”

“It’s a tale of a man discovering what really matters in modern life, a story of loss and reconciliation. The narrator, whose days are counted due to sudden diagnosis, meets the Devil who offers him an extra day of life in exchange of making one thing in the world disappear,” you explain briefly and he watches your fingers dancing over the front cover of the book, tracing the lines of the simple graphic of a cat. “There comes the question, how do you separate out what you can do without from what you hold dear? I think it’s something we don’t pay much attention to in our lives because we have everything within reach, but what if something just… disappeared? The narrator has to take responsibility for each one of his decisions. There’s no going back, there never will be, once a thing is gone, it’s gone.”

Suguru listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he absorbs your words. “That’s quite… It makes you think, doesn’t it?” He muses, nodding slowly. “It makes you wonder what you’d choose to erase if given a chance to live just a day longer.”

“The question of how to decide what’s okay to remove and what’s not is what makes me think the most,” you look up. The day is beautiful today, fluffy clouds travel sparsely over the azure blue sky, the sun warms your skin with its golden rays and the birds sing, hidden within the crowns of the nearby trees. You hear some chatter, somewhere from the distance where other students pass by, you hear the cars that honk impatiently as they stand in the traffic and you hear a dog barking. There’s a park not far away. “Some things that are insignificant to me might be the entire world to someone else.”

“So you think the burden of consequences might outweigh the price of life itself,” he notes, his eyes studying the lines of your profile. Your eyes, reflecting the blue of the sky, your cheeks flushed from the wind and sunrays. He thinks the color of your scarf makes your complexion looks brighter. “I don’t know if I would be capable of eradicating something from the world permanently. At first, I thought it might be easy, just get rid of something small and simple, but then it made me wonder if things I think are unimportant, truly are so.”

Truth is, Suguru doesn’t think he would dwell much about the topic if not you, but he wonders what if. What if he made a decision that would cause a war? Or someone else’s loss? What if a thing that he picks results in him not meeting you?

“That’s what philosophy does to you,” you chuckle, turning your gaze back to him, just to meet his eyes glued to yourself.

“But maybe that’s what makes life worth living,” he turns to you fully, his eyes wondering as he drops his usual playfulness and mischief. “It’s much easier to pretend we have control over our lives and the world around us rather than confront the harsh truth that we are all just tiny cogs in a vas, unpredictable machine. But maybe it’s the uncertainty, the constant surprises, the knowledge that anything can change in an instant what makes the journey worth the effort.”

“Maybe it is,” you nod, taking a moment to let his words sink in. “I wouldn’t expect you to engage in topics such as this. I apologize,” you offer a smile and he melts.

“You know, most people assume I’m just a pretty face. They don’t expect me to have substance beneath the surface,” he muses, his expression turning thoughtful before he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I guess I do give them the reasons to do so. But I really enjoy talking to you. It’s nice to have conversations that aren’t just surface-level flirting and innuendos. There’s just something about you...” He trails off, reaching out tentatively, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger against your skin for a moment before falling away. “I like how you challenge me, make me think deeper than I usually do. You are a puzzle I can’t wait to solve.” His gaze locks with yours, his expression open and vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen from him before. “Can I see you again? Like this, I mean. Just talking, getting to know each other better.”

The question hangs heavy in the air as you consider it. You will meet him again, one way or another, somewhere around the campus or at another frat party. You will see him again as he targets another girl, flirting his way into another pair of panties. And you exhale, your lips curving upwards slightly as you lean your head on your fist, elbow on your knee.

“Suguru,” you begin, his name slipping over your tongue with ease you enjoy. But you know better than this. You have seen it all too well how he treats women. “I enjoy conversing with you and if it’s just talk that you want from me, then I will find time to meet you again. But I need you to know that I will not allow myself to be another notch on your bedpost. It’s easy to get swayed by your charms, but I know your reputation and I know it for sure that if I had to give up one thing in the world, it would never be self-respect.”

And he knows for sure that if he had to give up romance for the rest of his life just to have you, he wouldn’t think twice about it.

“I don’t want to charm my way between your legs,” he swears, too quickly, too desperate to make himself believable and he groans, annoyed by his own self. He nervously runs his hand through his dark, raven hair. “Just, please, give me a chance. I won’t lie to your face and say that I’m suddenly ready to settle down or that I’m done sowing my wild oats entirely. I know what kind of reputation I have and I can’t deny that I��ve played the field more times than I can count. I’ve earned it fair and square,” he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. All of the lustful nights flashed before his eyes, the nameless girls, the empty promises and unanswered calls afterwards. All the nudes, all the sexts, all the quickies in the locker rooms and dingy bathrooms. Suguru would give them all away if only earned a chance to be with you. “I want to change. I already started to change. You don’t have to believe me right away, but you are different. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew there was something special about you. And I won’t lie that I’m not attracted to you physically. That would be impossible. But there’s more to it than that. Something worth pursuing beyond just a one-night stand.”

“And what change are you talking about?” You quiz. “Because as far as I am concerned, I’ve seen you flirting with some girls just yesterday.”

And he winces, unable to deny your accusation. “You’re right, I did flirt with them. It’s become a second nature to me, a habit I can’t seem to break easily.” He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair once more, frustrated. “But it didn’t go further than talk. I didn’t… I’ve stopped sleeping around. I blocked and removed all the girls’ numbers from my phone, deleted the pictures I had. Fuck, I even declined an invitation for a party with my pals, for the first time since high school. Look,” he leans in, his eyes locked with yours and his hand finds yours. You feel his thumb rubbing soft circles on your knuckles and you wonder if it’s to soothe you or himself. “Being with you, talking to you… it’s opened my eyes to what I have been missing out on. I’ve spent so long chasing meaningless encounters, never allowing myself to form real connections with anyone and now, I’ve tasted something more substantial and realized just how hollow my previous pursuits have been. I want to do better. For you, yes, but also for myself. I want to prove to you that I’m capable of more than just cheap thrills and empty promises.”

It’s true, everything he says. He is ready to drop the player mask, to shed his frat repute just to have a chance at something real, something that makes his heart flutter in his chest and his stomach bubble with butterflies. He is ready to say no to easy sex just to fight for your attention, your touch, your heart.

He is genuine, but you just hum, your expression unreadable as you weigh your next words. You like him desperate. You like how his violet eyes sparkle with puppy-like vulnerability rather than a flirty mischief. And he is beautiful, you cannot deny it — a man of impressive built, clad in ripped jeans and leather, heavy boots and a band tee. He looks like he bites, and you know he does. You take in the sight of his piercings, the large gauges, the snake bites in his lower lip, the piercing across the bridge of his nose, right between his captivating eyes and the one right above his left brow. You wonder what kissing him would feel like. Would the metal come in the way? Or maybe it would add to the experience?

“I’m not sure what to tell you,” you sigh. “I will give you a chance if you think you can change. But you’ll need to prove it. Think about it.”

And he did.

The lonely nights he spends at the frat house, laying in bed instead of partying with his friends, he wonders where the path of his change will lead him. What if it’s him, confronting the devil and having a chance to lose himself just to earn a day with you? He thinks he’d take it. He’s sure he would. He flips on the mattress, his eyes squinting as the lights from his phone blinded him with a new message. An unknown number. He opens it, it’s a picture, a bare body that he recognizes by the butterfly tattoo on the ribcage. A nude from one of his exes. She must have gotten a new number because he remembers vividly how he blocked her. Usually, he wouldn’t think twice about it, he’d reply with something cheeky, possibly send an explicit picture of himself, maybe set up a meeting or invite her over. His fingers typed the message before his brain managed to intervene and once he hit ‘send’, he cursed out loud.

“Fuck, you idiot!”

A pillow flew across the room as he stared at the ceiling. Would it hurt to go once more with no strings attached? It’s been some time since he’s gotten laid and the vision of tension coming off of him was a temptation beyond measure. But what about you? What about a change he had promised?

Is the change even for him?

Suguru stares at his phone screen, the message he sent glowing mockingly back at him, a shameful reminder of his weak self-restraint. The girl already replied, they always reply so fast, and he doesn’t know what to do. He knows he fucked up, he knows he shouldn’t have responded. He shouldn’t have even entertained the idea of hooking up with his ex, or any other girl. It goes against everything he told you, everything he promised.

With a heavy sigh, he tosses his phone aside, despite the notifications flooding his inbox. More pictures, the location, the time — an annoying ding makes his blood boil and he groans, burying his face in his hands. He feels conflicted, torn between his desire for physical release and growing feelings for you. He wants to be better, to be the man you deserve, to be the man that deserves you. He wants to prove to you that he’s serious about changing, but old habits die hard. The temptation is still there, lurking in the shadows of his mind, waiting for a split second of vulnerability.

He tosses and turns in bed. His thoughts race with the pictures of you, his mind replaying every conversation, every shared laugh and stolen touch. He remembers the way your eyes sparkled when you discussed philosophy, the passion in your voice as you told him about the importance of self-respect. He realizes that those moments were more fulfilling than any other fleeting pleasure he’s experienced before.

But he gets up anyway, he pulls up his dark-washed jeans and a hoodie, socks and boots and he’s ready to go. With a jacket grabbed in the hallway and a phone in his hand, he leaves the house. The crisp air of near winter hits him the moment he steps outside, cooling the blood in his veins and clearing his thoughts.

12 unread messages.

He groans again, this time into the nightly silence as he strides through the pavement, legs leading him in the direction of his doom. Suguru slips the earphones in, plays on the music but the melody and lyrics are helpless against the chaos in his mind.

It’s pointless, to resist his own body. He knows it’s pointless, he knows he has control over his legs and deep down he knows he would reject the booty call if he truly wanted. You deserve a better man anyway, not a player that fucks around like it’s a sport. You deserve someone who would worship the ground you walk on, a man of culture and manners with whom you’d engage in long, deep conversations late in the evenings, not a man-boy who cannot control his own dick. But fuck, does he wants you.

He wants you so bad, he wants to be all those things for you. He wants those discussions about philosophy and life, he wants to kiss your knuckles and be the knight in the shining armor, carrying you in his arms and shielding you from the world and assholes such as himself.

He lights up the cigarette, taking a deep breath in and looking up. The night is pretty. Calm. He wonders if you are already sleeping. Or maybe it’s one of those nights that you pull in order to study and secure your grades. The semester just began but he learned it already that you care about your future more than he does about his own. You’re a little nerdy. He thinks it’s cute. He can imagine himself wrapping a blanket around your shoulders when it’s late and carrying you to bed when you’re falling asleep on top of the books and notes. You would fit perfectly in his arms.

“You fucking moron,” he slanders himself quietly, already seeing the motel in front of him. He shouldn’t be there but he moves forward anyway. He knows his ex is already waiting for him, he can tell by the lights in the room they always used to book for the casual encounters. He stops before he enters, giving the smoke few more moments to burn. He can feel it in his lungs, somehow calming as he checks his phone, scrolling through the notifications.

One of the messages is from you.

It’s innocent in the sea of suggestive texts. There’s an apology for the late hour and a book title that you promised to send him a day before. The one you’ve been reading for the last few days and the one that made him rethink his entire life’s choices. There’s not much substance in the message, but it shakes him awake.

The turn he takes is aggressive, it’s resolute. Heavy boots thudding against the concrete panels as he walks away from the motel. ‘Sorry, not coming.’ He sends the message and blocks the number, feeling lighter the second he removes the nude picture and the unwanted contact.

It takes just an hour before he knocks at your door, the dormitory silent in the nightly time so he keeps himself quiet. You open after a long moment, dressed in a make-shift pajama. He likes the way your hair is messy from the pillows, how you smell like vanilla and flowers and coffee. You look so pretty like this, so undone, so unexpecting yet not entirely disappointed to see him. You seem… content?

“Suguru?” His name comes from your mouth and you usher him inside, afraid of someone seeing him. Once the doors shut behind him, your eyes search him for answers.

“Brought you some food, I thought you might need it,” he grinned, showing off the box of pizza and a bottle of soda. “I figured you’re studying tonight and might need some fuel.”

“So thoughtful,” you tease, but the smile that shapes your mouth reaches your eyes, so he knows it’s genuine. He follows you to your bedroom and he’s not surprised seeing the notes all over your bed and scattered on the floor. The papers full of sparsely highlighted knowledge that you want to transfer into your brain take most of the space before you gather them onto a neat pile. He sits right there, on the newly uncovered spot on your mattress. It feels intimate, to be in your room, to rest on your bed, to see you in your pajama. He wonders if you know what the sight of your thighs does to him, the plush, tender flesh begging to be touched, kissed and kneaded. Suguru thinks your skin would look beautiful with bitemarks all over.

“So, pizza,” he clears his throat after letting his eyes linger for way too long on your bare legs. “I took pepperoni, I hope you like it.”

“It’s perfect,” you smile and separate the barely cut pieces for easier access. “I appreciate the thought, really. But there was no need for you to leave the house just to do this.”

“For you, I would do it at every hour,” he says and then sighs deeply. “But truth is, I didn’t plan this.” Suguru feels like he’s inside the confessional. It’s a foreign tension, completely different from the one he felt just hour before. The knot in his stomach has nothing to do with lust and desire and all to do with stress and regret. “I’ve received a booty-call from my ex. That’s why I left the house,” he spats it out quickly, thinking it’ll hurt less if he does it in rush. “I didn’t go there though. I told her I’m not coming, blocked the number and came here instead.”

You stay neutral, chewing on the pizza as your tired eyes size him up. “Old habits die hard, huh?” You mock, slightly amused by his tormented expression. His eyebrow creases before he lets himself drop back onto the mattress, a soft grunt escaping his mouth as he covers his face with his hands.

“I meant it. I want to change and I’m working on it.” He says, his voice quiet and devoid of his usual cheekiness. “I fucked up when I entertained the idea of hooking up with a random person tonight but cut me some slack, I didn’t do it.”

“Good boy,” you mock-praise and he groans again, but then his entire body tenses when you lay next to him. He feels your breath against his cheek, the tip of your nose prodding the flesh. He doesn’t move, too afraid to ruin the moment. “Do you regret it? Not going, I mean. Be honest, don’t say what I want to hear.”

“I don’t,” he replies, his tone resolute. “I don’t regret not meeting my ex and not having sex tonight. I was pent up — fuck me, I still am, and when I replied to her text, I didn’t think much about anything except for my dick. But I don’t regret not going because I didn’t want to go. And I’m grateful that you texted me because you reminded me what really is important. Right now, it’s you.”

It makes you smile. He’s torn inside of his mind but you take it as a win anyway. Before, Suguru wouldn’t second-guess pulling his pants down and now you made him think. Now, you made him reconsider; wonder who he is without the façade of the charismatic ladies’ man. He will have to learn to navigate social situations without relying solely on his charm and wit to get what he wants. But he can do this. For you.

Before he speaks again, you’re asleep already. Sideways on the bed, most likely uncomfortable but right next to him and he doesn’t dare to move a muscle in his body. You’re sleeping, your face just an inch from his own. The soft fragrance of your skin fills in his nostrils and not even the smell of pizza nearby can disturb it. There’s a hair somewhere around his face, he doesn’t know if it’s yours or his own, but it tickles his cheek every time you exhale. It’s fine.

An hour passes and he finally gathers the courage to shift, as carefully as he can, he turns to his side, to face you. You’re a vision he takes in with his eyes wide open, committing the picture of your peaceful expression to memory. He likes everything about you, every hair of your eyebrows, every freckle and beauty mark. He likes the way you look so unbothered, so comfortable next to him. He wants to touch you. Oh, how much he craves to caress your cheek, to thread his fingers through your hair. His heart thumps in his chest, reaching speeds matching those of sprinters. The feeling is foreign. Is this…? It cannot be. Suguru Geto is not about… that. His entire life he believed he’s meant to have fun, no strings attached, no responsibilities. What did you do to him?

You move and he stops breathing. It’s an instinct, he thinks, that you shift closer to him, but he tells himself you want that. And you fit so well against his chest, your head below his chin, your hand around his middle. The room spins and he wraps you in the embrace of his arms.

He feels your heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing and suddenly, he calms down. It sinks into his mind that it’s where he wants to be. All the years of empty flings, the mediocre orgasms, the shameless pursuits could never compare to the feeling of you in his arms. That’s what he has been missing on. And he will do everything to be the man deserving of you.

Time passes, and Suguru slowly falls into the rhythm of his newfound resolve. It’s easy to decline hookup invitations when he can spend time with you, but maybe he did feel a little too confident when he decided to attend the big, annual party at the frat house. It’s Halloween, after all, how could he not go there when everyone will come? Quickly he falls into familiar routine of charms and alcohol, nursing a beer from a red plastic cup and chatting playfully with attractive attendees. His friends push him towards temptation, inviting more and more girls to the crowd and Suguru feels drawn to the lively atmosphere, the flirtatious banter comes as easy as breathing.

That is, before a pretty sophomore dressed in a devil costume takes a seat next to him — a seat he has kept for you, because you promised you’ll come, despite the need to study. It’s fine if the girl sits there for a moment or two, he thinks, as he engages in a conversation. He knows, it’s as obvious as day, that the second-year beauty is interested in getting into his pants — her hand on his thigh, the fluttering eyelashes and pouty lips say everything about her intentions. As the night progresses, he finds himself more and more… uncomfortable. Surprisingly.

And so, he feels relieved when he sees you in the crowd, late but looking absolutely adorable in your sweet bunny costume. It’s simple yet makes his pants grow tighter as he takes in the way the plain black dress hugs your curves. The fluffy tail bounces with each step you take through the filled living area and the long, pink-lined ears swing just slightly along with your hair whenever you move your head around, looking for something — for him and his heart skips a beat. In that moment, everything fades away — the raucous laughter, the pulsing music, even the sophomore girl next to him.

Excusing himself from company, he forces a smile as he brushes the invasive hand off his thigh and gets up from the sofa, making his way over to you. “Hey there, cutie,” he greets, pulling you into a hug and you melt into his chest in an instant. “Glad you could make it.” He breathes in your scent, letting it calm his nerves but it does little to calm other things down. Fuck, you look perfect.

“How could I miss my favorite frat boy sporting a vampire costume?” You quiz, backing up a little to take in his attire. He’s wearing all black, a dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, pants that make his legs look even longer than they are. His eyes are smudged with little bit of black eyeliner but it works for him, he looks sexy. “Aren’t you a pretty one. I might consider letting you bite me,” you tease, and he knows you’re joking but it doesn’t stop the blood in his body to travel downwards.

“Careful what you wish for, bunny,” he muses, “I might just take you up on that offer and sink my teeth into that delectable neck of yours.” His fingers intertwine with yours as he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before he leads your arm up onto his shoulder. “God, I missed you,” he murmurs as he lowers his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

He feels you chuckle, your nails scratching at his scalp as you thread your fingers through his dark locks. Once more you proved him that the change is worth it, because it’s you who’s on the line. “Dance with me?” He asks and you move with him towards the makeshift dancefloor.

Suguru pulls you closer as you enter the rhythm of the music, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other twirls you around gracefully. You’re giggling, amused by the undivided attention he pays you — he’s sweet when he has his eyes on the target, when he has to work for something. He dips you dramatically and your hand tighten on his shoulder, but it’s secure, the way he holds you as if he wished to protect you from all the bad in the world. His eyes lock with yours as he pulls you back up, flush against him. The heat radiating off both your bodies mingles together, creating an intoxicating aura that threatens to consume you whole.

You don’t really listen to what’s playing, a melody mellows in the background as his hands trace patterns along your sides and hips, follow the line of your spine, sometimes teasing the fluffy ball that is your tail. His touch ignites sparks wherever he grazes, leaving trails of fire in its wake. He’s hungry, for you, and you are too. It’s hard to deny it any longer and you think that maybe, just maybe he is ready to commit to something more than just a fleeting romance. It’s been months since he began pursuing you and his attention has been focused solely on you, despite the obstacles and temptations of his life. A reward wouldn’t hurt now, would it?

“I need a drink,” you tell him and he’s quick to react, taking your hand and leading the way towards the kitchen. He knows what you like, snatching a can of strawberry soda from the counter. When you nod in approval, he opens it, too hasty, too eager, that he doesn’t realize the way it bubbles over, spilling over the aluminum container and his fingers. Before he can react, your lips are already on his skin, licking away the sticky trail of pinkish liquid.

Suguru freezes as he feels your tongue glide across his skin, tasting the sweetness of the spilled soda. A shiver runs down his spine at the sensation, his breath hitching in his throat. Desire darkens his eyes, pupils dilate as he watches, transfixed, how you lick the sugary mess from his fingers. The sensation sends jolts of electricity coursing through his veins, pooling in the pit of his stomach. He breathes out your name, but you’re quick to shut him up.

You pull him down, your hand in his hair as you press your lips to his own. He tastes the strawberry sweetness of the soda on your tongue as it dances with his own, the flavor mixing deliciously with the taste of you. The dripping can is soon forgotten on the fake-marble countertop as he scoops you closer, arms wrapping around your waist securely. He can feel the heat of your body through the thin fabric of your costume, the softness of your curves molding perfectly against the hardness of his muscles. He’s eager, he moans lightly into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips. You feel the cold metal rubbing against your face, it’s interesting, it’s addicting. You like it.

“Always wanted to try that,” he pants out when for a moment you pull back. He chases your mouth, hungry for more, desperate.

“The soda?” You ask, pressing soft pecks to his pout.

“You.” He lounges forward once again, unsatiated and you don’t stop him. You don’t hear music anymore, all that’s rumbling in your ear is the sound of your heartbeat. You feel the heat in your veins, the flooding of ecstasy filling your cells one by one. There’s no space left between you, but you take a step forward anyway. You feel his hips rolling, a desperate cry for any sort of friction and when you slip your hand down, palming his groin through his pants, he groans into your mouth as his hips buck involuntarily into your touch. “Please,” he begs, eyes locking with yours as he leans his forehead against your own. He can feel himself throbbing beneath the confines of his pants, straining desperately for more of your attention. “You want me too, please tell me you do. I can’t… It hurts, I crave you so much, it hurts.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmur. “Your room is upstairs, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he breathes out. “But I won’t take you there. You deserve better than this place and my filthy bed. Let me take you to my apartment.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer and you follow him anyway, your hand incased in his large one, sticky from the spilled soda but none of you seem to care as you saunter through the dancing crowd of young people. Just to get outside.

The walk is a blur, you don’t remember much of it and so does Suguru. The night air is crisp, sending chills down your spine and the boy teases you about it, promising all the warmth he can produce in just few moments. You laugh with him, unbothered by the cool wind that tousles your hair. “It’s just around the corner,” he promises and you hum, matching his pace as he leads you through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo. The world blur into nothing, all you see is the man that holds your hand, the blue-ish hint to his hair whenever the lights fall on it just right, the sticky heat of his palm. You can still smell the faint strawberry aroma; you can definitely feel it on your tongue even though you didn’t manage to truly take a sip of it.

And you laugh again when he fumbles with the keys to his apartment. “Nervous?” You tease him playfully. “You have no idea,” he replies, smiling sheepishly and the entry finally swings open. He ushers you inside, kicking the door shut behind him and flicking the lights on.

Suguru wastes no time, pulling you flush against him once more as he presses you against the nearest wall, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. His hands roam your body greedily, mapping out every dip and curve, learning the shape of you and you do the same. He shrugs the jacket off and you’re quick to explore the broad lines of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his chest and stomach. You feel him everywhere, the hungry touch devouring every inch of your form. He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down the column of your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin and you whimper breathily — the sound undeniably similar to his own name.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, guiding him lower as he reaches your chest. His kisses grow more wet and delicate as he meets the soft mounds of your breasts, tightly confined by the neckline of your dress. He breaths in your scent, an intoxicating mixture of sweet and floral. It makes his head spin, it’s addicting. He wants more.

It’s easy to slip the dress off of you — first the straps and then the garment goes down, inch by inch revealing the smooth expanse of your skin to his starved gaze. He drinks in the sight of you, his eyes roaming hungrily over the newly exposed flesh and in that moment he swears he has never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life. His fingers skim along the edges of your bra, tracing the lace delicately before he leans in again, kissing your lips with softness that speaks more than any words could. He wants you, but he wants to worship you. He doesn’t want to make it all about lust and desire, he wants to make it about you and him. About whatever is this feeling that bubbles between you.

And so, he moves down slowly, lips mapping out the curve of your collarbone and down the path to your sternum. His hands follow your curves with gentleness he doesn’t recognize in himself. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his hot breath meeting the skin of your stomach, “just breathtaking,” he lowers himself to his knees — something he has never done in his entire life, used to have women at his feet.

“Suguru,” you breathe out but he doesn’t listen. Not when the skin of your thighs feels so soft against his cheeks, not when it tastes so delicious as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses along the plush flesh. Your fingernails find a way into his hair and he dives between your legs, encouraging one of them to hook over his shoulder. He savors the scent of you, his nose rubbing against the fabric of your underwear, prodding at the little wet patch. He licks it, his tongue flattening over the cotton, catching a hint of your taste — and that’s enough to make him go crazy for you.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he breathes out, every exhale that meets the wetness of your panties sends jolts of electricity up your spine and back down to your core. He presses his lips to where he thinks your clit is, you feel him sucking gently and it’s enough friction to feel yourself pulsating. You moan quietly, the sound escaping your parted lips easily as your hold on his hair tightens. There’s no denying that you want him just as much as he wants you. He’s desperate but so are you.

Your knee buckle as he continues the torture and he coos sweetly. “Let’s take you to bed, you sweet thing,” his tone is sugary, a melody dripping with honey as he smiles at you in a way that makes you blush. There’s adoration written all over his face, his cheeks are flushed, lips red and glistening. You want to follow him when he stands up, but he swoops you off your feet, carrying you bridal style towards the bedroom. It makes you giggle.

“Practicing already?” You muse and he just smiles.

“Perhaps.”

Your back meets the cold bedspread as he lays you down delicately. No time is wasted before he’s right above you, right on you — you feel the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. No complains about it. He feels good, his hips rolling in a way that has his bulging erection grind along your panties. You hate the fabrics between you two, you hate how they make you feel less of him.

So you move your hands, slide them between your bodies, fumble with the buttons of his shirt. “Impatient much?” He teases, but helps you, pulling the shirt over his head, saving you trouble of the bottom fasteners. His lips find yours in a kiss that burns and you whimper into it, feeling the warmth spreading all over your body.

You reach down. Button, zipper. Your hands tremble as you push the fabric off his hips and he kicks it down. He helps himself with a hand and soon, his pants are on the ground, along with his socks and your bra, that you impatiently toss away. Suguru’s heart rumbles against his ribcage as he takes in the sight of your bare chest. It’s perfect, you are perfect and he cannot believe the luck he has — after years of chasing simple pleasures and meaningless peaks, he had finally found someone he wants to call his.

He feels your heart underneath his cheek as he leans down, inhaling the scent of your skin — his nose trails patterns over the soft flesh before he presses his lips to it, kissing his way towards one of your nipples. It pebbles beneath his touch, hardening as he latches onto it, sucking and teasing it with teeth, twirling his tongue all around. He matches his ministrations with his fingers, not letting the twin feel left out. Your taste is of pure heaven and the sounds that leave your mouth are ones of an angel.

There’s a patch of wet on his boxers, right where the throbbing head of his cock strains against the fabric — the precum oozing out as he grinds his hips against yours. It makes him insane how you reply with the roll of your own, to match his moves, to cause more of that delicious friction that sends both of you into a spiral of desire.

Unable to wait any longer, you hook your fingers at the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down and Suguru replies with the same — pulling the soaked cotton off of you. He wants to taste you, and he will, but not now. He reaches down, guiding the tip of his cock between the folds of your pussy, the head sliding with ease as your slick mixes with the pearly beads of semen. He loves the way your thighs tremble every time he glides over your sensitive clit, how your breath hitches and eyes close.

“Ready?” The question falls and you nod fervently, your hands finding his shoulders for balance. “Use your words, beautiful.”

“I’m ready,” you assure and then, your back arches off the mattress. He slides in inch by inch, stretching you, filling you so completely, making you go blind for a moment. The pain burns just faintly, losing its flames to the flooding of endorphins and pleasure. He goes in to the hilt, his body shuddering as he drops his head to the crook of your neck.

The feeling overwhelms him. The way your pussy grips him, like a vice that almost pulls him in more and more. It’s delightful. Ecstatic. It’s something he’s never experienced before. Is that what love feels like? He moves, slowly backing his hips until there’s nothing but a tip nestled inside you before he pushes forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs and his own too.

You paw at his arms, his back and chest. You want him closer, you want to feel all of him. Stars are clouding your vision, the world ceases to exist and there’s nothing else in it but you and the man on top of you. He feels so good, like he’s meant to be right there with you and Suguru feels the same. Like he found home, like he belongs there, in the warmth of your embrace, in the tightness of your walls. He loves the way you cling to him, the way your nails dig into his skin and your heels dig into his ass, urging him to go harder, faster. He complies, his hips snapping against yours as the wet sounds of your bodies colliding echo through the room, alongside your moans and gasps.

He changes the angle, shifting his hips to hit that spot inside you that makes the stars glitter before your eyes. He knows he’s found it when your back arches off the bed, your nails scoring down his back and a scream tears from your throat. He loves the sound, he loves the sight. He loves how you come undone, how beautifully blissed out your expression is, how your eyes lock with his even though you see nothing but haze. He grins, a smile lost against your skin as he continues pounding into you relentlessly, chasing his own high. He can feel it already, it threatens to consume him. His balls draw up tight, his heart races in his chest.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his groans and whimpers against your tender flesh as his hand grips your hip tightly. You match him thrust for thrust, nails leaving angry red marks in their wake. You feel the pleasure building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you feel you might explode. Your walls start to flutter around him to the rhythm of your heartbeat and the desire coursing through your veins.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Suguru gasps, his voice strained with exertion. He knows you’re close, it drives him insane. “I’m gonna—” He cuts himself off with a guttural moan as his climax hits him like a freight train. He follows you into the pit of pure delight, headfirst, no thoughts. Just pure, overwhelming bliss.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, as his hips buck forward few more times, riding out your highs with stuttered thrusts. You both lay there, panting and sweating, basking in the afterglow of passion. His softening cock slips out of you, followed by a gush of combined fluids but none of you worries about the mess, too blissed out to care about a thing.

“Wow,” he breathes, nuzzling his face into your neck, finding your pulse with his lips. “That was incredible.”

You giggle softly, carding your fingers through his sweat-dampened locks. They feel like silk, soft and luxurious. “Mm, it certainly was.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he exhales, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms. He presses a tender kiss to your temple, marveling at the intimacy of the moment. It feels new, like an uncharted territory that he wants to explore further. With you. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs, his voice barely above whisper and sincere. “I want to be better. To be worthy of you.”

You hum, lifting your head to look at him and all you see in his violet eyes is raw honesty and a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. “I believe you,” you tell him, leaning in to capture his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. There’s no more rush, no more lust — just pure, soft affection. “And I want to help you change. Together, yeah?”

Suguru smiles against our mouth, his heart swelling with love he never knew he was capable of.

Together.

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gods-landing · 2 months ago

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i love you people in my phone i know the seasonal depression is setting in so we need to hold eachother like a litter of kittens in a cardboard box okay...its important

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gods-landing · 2 months ago

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You walked into the apartment you shared with Satoru and Suguru, your keys clinking as you lazily tossed them onto the counter. With a heavy sigh, you made your way to Suguru’s room, your feet dragging slightly. You needed a break, a distraction from your other boyfriend, Satoru’s, stupid actions. God, how you wanted to strangle the shit outta him sometimes.

Pushing open Suguru’s door, you plopped down onto his bed with a frustrated pout, your body sinking into the plush mattress. Suguru glanced up from his book, a knowing glint in his eye. "Let me guess, the idiot did something again, hm?" he murmured, setting the book aside and sliding closer to you.

You nodded, snuggling into his chest as you recounted Satoru’s thoughtless flirting. "Satoru was flirting with this girl at the cafe. Flirting, Sugu. There’s no way he doesn’t do that shit on purpose. But anyway, she asked for his number he just brushed her off with one of his stupid charming smiles and told her I was his girlfriend. I should be happy about that, right?" You let out an irritated huff, your brows furrowing. "I don't know, it just really rubbed me the wrong way, you know? Like, he knows he’s hot as shit so why’s he entertaining other girls. But he’s aggravatingly loyal at the same time so I can’t say anything about it" you whine with a pout.

Suguru tsked, what an idiot, he thought, his fingers trailing down your side as he listened. "Mm, sounds like he knows what he’s doing," he said simply, nonchalantly hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

You shivered as he slowly slid them down, exposing your lace-trimmed panties. "I just don't understand why he has to be like that, Suguru," you sighed, your voice tinged with hurt. "He knows I don’t like it."

"Poor thing," Suguru breathed as his hand slowly went down to rub firm circles against your clit through the thin fabric. You let out a soft hum, arching into his touch as you were already soaking your panties at his ministrations. "Let me make you feel better," he murmured before pulling your panties to the side, deftly slipping two fingers into your slick heat. You whimpered, your hips rocking against his hand, his skilled digits curling just right to have you squirming as a fresh wave of arousal flooded you. "Mmm, that's it, let me take care of you," Suguru purred, his voice dripping with desire. "Thank you, Sugu" you let out a soft breath, your walls fluttering around his fingers. "Needed this so badly."

Suguru pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his cock straining against his own shorts as he felt your arousal coating his fingers. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I’ll make you feel much better" he promised with a sweet curl of his fingers before withdrawing his hand with a reluctant sigh. You whined at the loss of contact, aching to feel his skilled fingers inside you again.

"I know exactly what you need," he murmured, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts and slowly pushing them down. His thick, pretty cock sprang free, the tip drooling with precum.

You bit your lip at the sight, your body aching to be filled by him. You could see his cock a million times, and every single time without fail, you’d be dripping at the mere sight of it. Suguru wrapped an arm around your waist, guiding you to straddle his hips. "That's it, just let me take care of you," he purred, slowly easing his cock into your slick, welcoming heat.

You let out a shuddering moan as he stretched and filled you, the delicious sensation making your toes curl. Suguru's strokes were deliberate and measured, his hips rolling up to meet yours in a steady, sensual rhythm. So different from Satoru. Not that you disliked how Satoru fucked you. Satoru fucked you sooo good every. single. time, it’s just Suguru did it differently. You clung to his shoulders, your mind blissfully blank as he fucked you with such care and attention.

The room was filled with the sounds of your soft moans and Suguru's low, guttural grunts as he rolled his hips up into you. His hands roamed your body, caressing and squeezing in all the right places, eliciting shivers of pleasure from you.

"Mm, you feel so good," Suguru hummed softly, his hands on your hips, guiding you up and down his cock while he also rolled his hips up into you. You could feel every vein on his cock, deliciously dragging in and out of your walls. One hand moved from your hip to circle your clit with his thumb. Suguru didn't even have to fuck you hard and fast to have you trembling on the edge of ecstasy. As you looked down at his face, you were struck by just how breathtakingly beautiful he was. Like he was GORGEOUS. His eyes were dark with lust, half-lidded and smoldering with desire, and that look alone had your thighs trembling. Swear on your soul you could bust just at the sight.

Suguru's slow, measured thrusts, combined with the expert strokes of his fingers on your clit, had you wound tighter than a coiled spring. That look in his eyes, paired with his sensual movements, was enough to send you hurtling over the edge. With a soft gasp, your mouth falling open in a perfect 'O', wave after wave of shattering ecstasy washed over you. Your eyes rolled back as your walls clenched and fluttered around him, your entire being consumed by the blinding pleasure.

The sound of your pretty little gasps and the feel of your soaking, quivering pussy drove Suguru wild. If you weren’t on the pill, he’d put a baby in you at Mach 20 speed. With a guttural groan, he snapped his hips up, burying himself as deep as he could inside you, spilling every last drop of his cum in you.

Just then, you heard the door open, and Satoru stood there, an eyebrow raised at the debauched sight before him. "Mm, someone’s been taken care of, I see." he purred, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Round two so I can make it up to you, hm?"

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gods-landing · 2 months ago

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despite his tight and busy schedule, gojo satoru always finds time for you. you're not the world's strongest sorcerer, so there’s no need for you to share his late-night work routine. still, it’s around 1 am, and though you’re sleepy, you refuse to go to bed without him. satoru knows this about you.

without a word, he gently scoops you from the couch and places you in his lap, guiding your arms around his neck. he presses a soft kiss against your skin, and you sigh, surrendering to his touch. your eyes slowly close, comforted by the warmth of his embrace.

as sleep begins to pull you to sleep, you feel him rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles. he works quietly, but his focus shifts to you in these little moments, as if you’re the only thing that keeps him alive.

you get him through every night. and he loves you more than words could ever express.

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gods-landing · 2 months ago

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just thinking about vamp!suguru letting newly turned vamp!satoru feed from your neck.

your back is pressed flush against the fledgling’s hardened chest. the only sounds to be heard are repeated whimpers, followed by soft suckles. both are shushed by the soft coo of suguru’s voice; “easy, baby, don’t wanna hurt ‘em, do you?” his question being answered by a quiet hum from the white haired man.

the two men reassure you with a firm squeeze to your waist, both sets of hands keeping you steady as your lashes flutter. you’re glad the older vamp is here to keep watch over the eager one, it makes you feel safe enough to close your eyes, trusting that both will make sure satoru stays within your limits.

suguru drinks in the scene of his two darlings, licking his lips at the two of you in front of him. his eyes are glued to the liquid crimson that sticks to the soft flesh of your neck, and stains the plump lips of his fledgling.

it’s a shame that your eyes are closed at this moment, if they hadn’t, maybe you would have been graced with the scene of suguru pulling satoru off of your neck, and licking the saccharine remnants off satoru’s lips.

well, there’s always next time!

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gods-landing · 2 months ago

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FIREFLIES NEVER CAME ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your seat is close to the heater. that’s the only reason gojo comes there to warm up.

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, teen!satoru, set in a canon au, mutual pining, fluff, a little bittersweet (melancholic winter vibes <3), introvert/extrovert, reader is antisocial and dense as a brick (black cat vibes :3), also kind of self-deprecating, satoru is very shoujo manga coded, just lots of puppy love!! feat. wingman!suguru <3

a/n; this wasn’t meant to be a fic …… it was gonna be really short and sweet ……… (T_T) anyway i am very fond of this reader/character dynamic so i hope you enjoy reading abt my emotionally stunted kids 🫶 biggest mwah in the world dedicated to professor logan (@staryukis) for teaching me about physics so i could find a loophole in satoru’s infinity :3c all for the sake of lore-accurate (kinda) fluff <3

”what are you listening to?”

your seat is close to the heater.

it was nothing but a lucky draw, really. yaga-sensei was organizing the desks when you transferred, and so he gave you the first choice; one you had no trouble making, latching on to the chair in the very back, right by the window, right by the sole heater of the room. vital for surviving your chilly winter classes.

so there you sit. a warmth sneaks through your fuzzy socks, tends to your restless legs. your feet tap and tap, on the cold floorboards, in rhythm with your never-ending thoughts, spinning like a planet in orbit.

through the fogged-up, frosted glass of the window to your left, you observe the world. headphones covering your ears, safe and snug, muffling all noise. you watch as snow falls, wholly entranced, eyes stuck on the icy snowflakes descending from the wool-gray sky — blanketing the frostbitten landscape of the courtyard. it’s pretty, all those skeletal trees, glittering and gleaming like they have something to say. sometimes they look like stars.

”… hey. did you hear me?”

gojo is being particularly chatty, today.

out of the corner of your eye, you see him wave his hand right in front of your face. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s rude; he must be used to all eyes being on him, from the moment he speaks.

with a flutter of your lashes, you lift your weary head. meeting his gaze, the blurry shine of your own visage, reflected in his circle-frame glasses. a soft tilt of his head, and then his lips are twitching upwards, just barely, snowy strands gliding across his forehead and falling over his face. like an excited puppy.

”what are you listening to?”

you read the words off his lips, all sound muffled by your headphones. quick to lift one of your hands, pulling one one of the heavy ear cushions away — letting all white noise in the room flood your senses. the snarls of the wind outside, ieiri’s laughter, the scribbling of geto’s pen against paper.

it’s overwhelming, but a small price to pay. his voice is softer than usual, during moments like these; there’s a pleasant lull to it.

gojo tips his head to the right, still awaiting your response. all you can do is stare, watching your own reflection, fingers gripping onto the edge of your desk. as if seeking to ground yourself.

with a spoonful of hesitance, you part your lips.

”… do you like music?”

the words seep out into the air, a softly exhaled breath. gojo watches you, silently, for just a moment.

then he gives you a shrug.

”i guess?” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to another — hand slipping into the pocket of his uniform. ”that’s more suguru’s thing.”

ah.

your mouth forms around the syllable, as if responding, but not making any sound. gaze fleeing from his glasses, crumbling under their weight, straying towards the frosted window to your left. safe, familiar, rotting trees and twitching branches. snow just as pure as the boy in front of you.

silence overtakes you both, once more.

”... not gonna answer?” he asks, with another tilt of his head, absently rocking side to side as he lets out an exhale. ”is it a secret, or something?”

(it is, you think. but you can’t say it out loud.)

before you can part your lips again, the classroom door slides open — and you know it’s yaga-sensei just by the way his feet hit the floorboards, the decisive weight behind every step. you know even before he’s telling you to get back to your seats.

on cue, gojo stands up straighter, shooting you another glance. bright-eyed, easy-going, every star in the sky leaping out from the glimpse you get of his eyes when he angles his body. two blue pools, flecked with white, like frozen puddles in the street.

and then he’s strolling away.

gojo leaves, and you take off your headphones; stretching your legs underneath the desk. reaching for your ballpoint pencil, flipping open your textbook, and indulging in sleepy blinks, as yaga begins to drone on and on. you stifle a yawn with the sleeve of your blazer, resting your jaw on the heel of your palm. eyes inevitably straying towards a head of white hair.

but your name is called before you can get lost in your daydreams.

”page 27, from the top.”

your chair scrapes against the floorboards, as you sluggishly stand up. holding onto your textbook, flipping the pages until you land on the correct passage. with shaky hands, not enough to notice, you read out loud; voice controlled, almost monotone. all you can think is that you feel his frost-clad eyes on you, from the row straight ahead.

but you continue to speak. you speak until you reach the end of the page, until you’re allowed to take your seat again, happy to feel the warmth of the heater radiate against your legs. it’s this warmth that’s important, the most important thing of all.

without it, gojo wouldn’t bother to stop by your desk.

nearly every recess, as soon as yaga leaves the classroom, he’s waltzing over — leaning against the wall, stretching his arms out, purring contentedly as heat spreads throughout his body. you think he must run cold. chatting with you, just to pass the time, just until your teacher comes back. just to warm up.

then he’s leaving, again.

that’s all it is. a cold boy, and a heater by your desk — a conversation that otherwise wouldn’t have occured. even the strongest is vulnerable to changes in temperature, you suppose.

if warmth is all that binds him to you, it’s bound to dwindle away.

(you’re sure he’ll stop as soon as spring comes.)

the next day, gojo is nowhere to be seen. you saw yaga-sensei drag him out of the classroom this morning; something about a clan meeting, something you weren’t paying attention to.

but now you wish you had.

(it’s quiet, without him around. eerily so.)

with nothing to lose, and nothing else to do — you push your chair away from your desk, and walk up to your classmate, a question on your mind.

”… music? are you looking for recommendations?”

you nod.

geto blinks. caught off guard, you’re sure, surprised that you’d approach him without any prior coaxing. he’s usually the one striking up a conversation with you, like a responsible class president, making sure the weird kid doesn’t feel left out. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s patronizing.

”hmm... well, that depends.” he gives you a smile, soft around the edges. it never feels as genuine as gojo’s, but it’s calming. ”what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

…

you glance down at the floor. bundling up the cuffs of your uniform, fingers clawing softly at the fabric, bottom lip trapped between two sets of teeth.

”… what kind of music does gojo like?”

silence. your words are barely spoken, just above a whisper, just like always, but geto picks up on them anyway. you can tell he does, can feel the weight of his keen eyes on your face. analytical.

then he parts his lips.

”… ohhh.” a low hum, ripe with meaning, buzzing at the bottom of his throat. the corners of his lips quirk up into a knowing smile. ”i see.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, blossoms under your skin. if he notices, he’s even more composed than you thought he was, because he doesn’t mention it. only continues to speak, in that soothing voice, crossing his arms in silent thought.

”hmm…” you follow his gaze, out towards the window, the same webs of frost as always. it’s not snowing, but you still can’t see the blue of the sky. ”i’ve never seen him listen to music before, so i wouldn’t know.”

you can’t help but deflate, at that.

geto only smiles. exhaling, through his nose, mildly humoured — though he’s good at hiding his amusement. ”… what do you think that means?”

a blink. your lashes flutter, as you gaze up at him.

”… huh?”

”satoru doesn’t listen to music, but he wants to know what you’re listening to.” he says the words almost coachingly, like he’s listing off a string of numbers. you realize he must have been listening in on your conversation, but it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as his tone. ”what do you think that means?”

…

(you haven’t got a clue.)

geto lets out a chuckle, laced with mirth, no longer trying to hide it. paired with a soft shake of his head, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes. ”why do you want to know about his taste in music, then?”

(… that’s a good question.)

he seems to notice your hesitance, your apprehension, the way your teeth seek to trap your bottom lip; always the victim of your muddled mind. you know the answer, of course you do — but it isn’t something you want others knowing.

thankfully, geto breaks the silence for you.

”i don’t think you need to try so hard, when it comes to him.” his voice is soft, almost sincere, something warmer than usual. glancing away when you meet his eyes. ”… he isn’t worth the effort, anyway.”

but that’s where he’s wrong.

satoru gojo is a special case. a special person. in the orbit of your life, there’s no star you’d rather keep — no one quite as ripe with colour.

geto couldn’t possibly understand, because gojo is always with him — always orbiting around him. he always will, until you graduate, probably even beyond that. geto has him. they’re the strongest, a pair, always matching their steps to one another. but you only have these quiet days, these chilly classes in between never-ending missions — and that’s all.

when the frost outside the window thaws, gojo will surely stop visiting your desk. your lonely little world.

that’s exactly why — you need to find a song. if you just teach him about something wonderful enough, if you can give him something other than warmth…

(… maybe he’ll stay with you even after spring comes.)

”next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?”

geto’s suggestion breaks you out of your thoughts. when you raise your head, to meet the warm pools of amber in his eyes, he gives you a smile. there’s nothing patronizing about the way he’s looking at you now — if anything, you think it may even be slightly fond, but you can never tell what he’s actually feeling. he’s frightening, like that, always a mirror to whatever situation he finds himself in. a chameleon, tilting his head at you.

… though you can’t help but fall victim to the kindness in his eyes. the velveteen purr of his voice.

”i’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

a nervous pit opens up in your chest, an empty space that gnaws incessantly at your heart. will he?, you want to ask, but it feels like the words are made out of lead. you can’t get them out of your throat.

”… okay,” is all you end up whispering, a soft lull of your tongue. ”i’ll try… thank you.”

geto rewards you with a full smile.

”don’t mention it.”

spring is closer than you thought.

it’s all you can think, when you step onto the pavement, when you feel the morning air gnaw at your frostbitten cheeks. it’s freezing, it’s winter, but the signs of changing seasons are still there — a lonesome snowdrop, the crackle of an icy puddle beneath your feet. the frost is beginning to thaw.

in a month or so, spring will be here — there’s no stopping it.

”did you bring your card?”

your headphones rest around your neck, allowing you to listen in on your classmates' conversation. all four of you are together, for once, all first-years, walking towards the nearest konbini — at gojo’s insistence.

it’s been a week since you had that talk with geto, but you still haven’t made any progress with him.

”huh? was i supposed to?”

”… are you kidding me?”

you glance up at the pair. always walking just a little bit ahead, their tall statures obscuring the view in front of you; shoko lags behind, with lazy steps, a trail of tobacco drifting out into the crispy air. all while snowflakes fall from the sky, gently, landing in your hair, on your shoulders, melting on the inside of your palm when you hold it out to catch them. watching as they turn into droplets of water, slip through the gaps between your fingers.

someone taps your shoulder.

geto has snowflakes stuck in his hair. they’re melting, in the strands of ink-black framing his face, matching the colour of the thick polo jacket he’s wearing. a bright red scarf is tied around his throat, and there’s a weighty look in his eyes — something telling.

a silent cue.

he falls back, slowly but surely, into ieiri’s lazy pace. not before murmuring something unintelligible to gojo, and shooting you a wink — one that makes you frown, confused, a low heat blooming at the base of your spine and crawling up your neck.

and then you realize what he’s done.

gojo is looking right at you, through the black glass of his specs. only wearing a baseball jacket, no gloves or scarves to keep him warm, despite the harsh bite of the open air. for a guy who runs cold, he must not put much thought into his clothing.

more importantly…

it’s just the two of you, now.

you blink at him, silent as a mouse. it only takes a moment for him to start moving, for you to follow, taking your place beside him while staring right ahead. if he’s bothered by geto slinking away, he doesn’t show it — only continues to walk.

”… that’s so unfair.”

gojo’s voice breaks the silence. you turn your head to gaze at him, the way his lips wrap around the vowels, haphazardly hanging onto every word he speaks.

”just ’cause i have clan money,” he kicks at a pebble on the side of the road, wisps of white hair swaying with a shake of his head, ”suguru thinks i should pay for our snacks. isn’t that unfair?”

you hesitate. then you nod along, absently.

he seems to take that as a yes, because it makes him brighten — as if gleaming with your approval, standing a little straighter, puffing out his chest with an exhale that turns into white smoke.

”right? they only give it to me because they want me to come back to kyoto, anyway…” he trails off, holding the tip of his tongue between his lips. ”… not that it matters. anyway, i just think he’s oppressive.”

”… mm.”

from this angle, you can see a sliver of his eyes. can see the way he steals a glance at you, without even turning his head — hands slipping into his pockets. there’s a moment of silence, until he’s parting his lips again.

”… i can buy some for you, though.”

(you barely pick up on the words, spoken almost in a whisper — as if an afterthought.)

he clears his throat.

”… if you don’t have the money, i mean.”

you can’t help but blink, at that — lashes fluttering in rapid succession, wondering if you heard him correctly. he doesn’t seem keen on elaborating, though. walking on, ignoring all snowflakes descending from the sky, eager to nuzzle in between his locks. his infinity keeps them out.

”… why?”

it’s all you can say. all you can verbalize.

(in a story like this, why would the brightest star of all orbit around someone like you?)

gojo gives you another glance. his iris cuts into your skin, observes you on what you’re sure must be a molecular level. he lets silence linger, for a moment, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

gray, and more gray. flecks of white. you’d see the same thing he does.

”hmm…” he lets out a breath, head falling forward again, snowy strands ghosting against the skin of his forehead. ”let’s call it a trade.”

another series of blinks.

gojo turns towards you, then — a fresh grin blooming on his lips. white teeth, pink gums. it makes him look boyish, innocent, just another city boy with too much time on his hands.

”i buy you snacks — and you tell me what music you’re always listening to.” he bends his body forward, tilts his head at the same time, all lanky and charming, like a big cat. ”deal?”

you stay silent.

he’s looking at your headphones, still left neglected around your neck. your gaze falls down to the icy concrete, the thin layer of frost, waiting to be melted by the first sunrays of spring. whenever that will be.

geto and shoko are still behind you — you can hear their low, muffled chatter, smell the remnants of tobacco in the air. and you swear you can practically hear geto’s words, echoing through your head.

(why do you think that is?)

gojo is still looking at you. expectantly, lips curled up into a lazy smile. he’s waiting, you know he is, and you also know he isn’t very good at that. you know a lot of things — what you don’t know is what to say. you don’t know if you can believe in whatever geto was insinuating, don’t know if you can grapple with your own longing to do so.

(next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?)

geto doesn’t get it. he doesn’t know what your feelings towards gojo truly look like. doesn’t know that what’s on your mind when he’s around is always something horrifically embarrassing. something like, i want to know more about you, or maybe i wish i could tell you more about me. something awfully cheesy, like — i’m jealous of how bright you shine, but i can’t help but like you anyway.

if i become your friend, would it be okay to say i understand your loneliness? that i notice it, even just by a fraction?

would that be okay with you?

(words that should be left unspoken.)

”… well, it’s not like you have to.” gojo exhales, again, the words a heavy weight seeping past his throat. his shoulders slump, as he turns forward, fingers trailing up to scratch at the back of his neck.

all you can think is that he’s getting ready to leave. that nothing will change, at this rate, that spring will wash winter away. that geto should be more direct with his advice, and that if it’s not the music itself that gojo is interested in knowing more about, then surely —

” — i don’t listen to anything.”

gojo stills. the words have flown past your lips before you can reach out and grasp them, slicing through the open air.

he spins around, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose at the sudden motion, exposing his widened eyes. those white lashes, fluttering softly, like a pair of doves eager to get above ground. you grip onto the insides of your pockets, warm and cozy against your freezing hands — it grounds you, keeps you tethered down to earth, down to him.

”music,” you continue, sputtering slightly, as if your lungs don’t quite know how to work under pressure. winter air seeps into your windpipe, cuts the skin there. ”i don’t listen to music.”

you lift your hands, fingers curling around the soft earmuffs wrapped around your neck, hesitantly meeting gojo’s gaze — an overlapping sequence, blanketing his view. then you’re gazing down.

”it’s just… comforting,” you try to explain, speaking softly. ”to wear them. white noise.. tires me out, so…”

the sentence trails off, unfinished. you feel silly. silly for saying anything at all, for building it up so much. silly for being the way that you are.

but when you look up at gojo, he’s brightened like a star.

white teeth, pink gums, that breathtakingly boyish grin. his blue eyes gleam with colour, almost spilling over the corners, like watercolour paint on a too-small canvas. he tilts his head, looking at you carefully, as if truly seeing you for the first time; absently swaying side to side.

if he had a tail, you’re sure it’d be wagging.

”i see!”

a silent breath spills into the air. your lips part, but no sound comes out, only vapour; heart pumping blood through your writhing veins, warming you up from the inside, a co-conspirator to the heat blooming in your cheeks. gojo continues to speak.

”i guess that counts,” he nods, crossing his arms with a satisfied hum. ”alright. i’ll get you any snacks you want! you can be greedy, it’s okay.”

a murmur of thanks escapes you, although you’d like to tell him there’s no need. something tells you denying him this would be like taking another step backwards, in this budding connection between you.

(… if you can even call it that.)

geto and ieiri catch up to your unmoving figures, finally, and only then does gojo spin on his heel and pick up his previous pace. calling back to you over his shoulder, a smile you can’t see but still hear.

”just don’t give any of it to those two, yeah?”

”cheapskate,” ieiri calls back, lone cigarette hanging between her lips. geto lets out something like a chuckle, his shoulder brushing up against yours.

you watch gojo’s back as he moves forward. unbothered, untethered. you think of him a snowflake in the breeze.

spring is almost here, now. it’s a bittersweet feeling, to know your conversations during recess will surely dwindle out — but at least you’ll have had this. one normal conversation, the knowledge that he was curious about you, even if you may just be the classmate by the heater in his eyes.

you’re too cold to keep him warm all on your own, so there’s no helping it. you’re willing to accept that some stars only show from the surface during winter.

you’re willing to accept this. it aches, a little, but you’ll be okay.

”i’ll take it things went well, then?”

geto is wearing his signature smile, when you look up at him. an expression of carefully concealed composure, lips curled up, but a knowing look in his eyes — something that borders on teasing.

you give him a nod, a bow of your head, to silently convey your appreciation. chameleon or not, you don’t really mind his ways. it’s hard to fake the warmth in his voice, when he speaks.

”i’m glad.”

the two of you watch gojo’s back, like birds gazing out at a body of water. silence lingers.

”won’t that moron get cold?”

ieiri’s voice cuts through the mold of your mind, low and gravelly, right beside you. she’s pointing towards gojo — the flimsy jacket he’s wearing.

you’re wondering the same thing.

geto casts her a glance over your head, before gazing down at you, seemingly noticing your curiosity. he lets out a low hum; reaching a hand out to brush away the snowflakes on his shoulders.

”temperature,” he begins, slipping his hands into his pockets; that familiar coaching tone to his voice, purposefully slow. ”is just a measure of atoms in rapid motion.”

you tilt your head, in tandem with ieiri — looking to your classmate for further elaboration. he seems to enjoy your confusion, lips curling up just a bit. gojo calls out to you, in the distance, waving both his hands, and geto returns it with a wave of his own.

an amber eye flicks towards you, an explanation on his tongue. ”his infinity can regulate that motion.”

… another tilt of your head.

geto lets out an amused breath. it scatters out into the air, a cloud of smoke, almost a chuckle.

”basically…” he sighs. ”he does just fine, in the cold. don’t worry about it. he’ll keep himself warm.”

ieiri mutters something, beneath her breath, something like you could have just said no, but you don’t really hear it. you think your heart must have climbed up, somehow; got caught in your windpipe.

ah.

gojo can keep himself warm.

the thought spins inside your mind, over and over, a realization that makes your inner palms feel clammy. stupid, silly, this pitter-patter of your heartbeat. but what else could it mean? if the cold doesn’t bother him, if he doesn’t run cold, then…

(he wouldn’t need it. he wouldn’t need it here, wouldn’t need it during recess, within the chilly walls of your classroom. he wouldn’t need it to stay warm.

gojo isn’t after your heater. if that’s true, then…)

…

you bury your nose in the soft wool of your scarf. breathing in the fading scent, vanilla and cinnamon, grounding you to earth, lingering in your nostrils. distracting you from the rush of warmth, that blooms in the frostbitten apples of your cheeks.

as if sensing your thoughts, or maybe just noticing your embarrassed expression, geto laughs — soft and breathy, shoulders shaking to your left. you hear it, only nuzzling deeper into the comfort of your scarf. feeling your heartbeat spin out of orbit.

in the distance, gojo continues to wave, yelling out something unintelligible. you could mistake him for a star.

spring is almost here, now. in just a month or so, it’ll be at your doorstep — waltzing right in.

(but you aren’t worried.)

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gods-landing · 2 months ago

Text

18+ mdni; fem!reader

the idea of trying double penetration with satoru and suguru won't leave my mind...

satoru's laying there on his back as you sit on his lap; he's already slotted deep inside your messy cunt, yours and his slick mixing together as it dribbles down and over his balls. he can't stop admiring you with hearts in his eyes, his hands softly kneading the plush flesh of your thighs while you're trying to calm your breathing. your eyebrows are furrowed, nails digging into satoru's chest as you hold yourself above him – you'd make fun of his lovesick expression if you could just stop freaking out about the fact that you're about to have two cocks inside you.

you can't help but squirm when you feel suguru's finger circle your tight little hole. he hums deeply and you know he's got that annoying grin on his face. satoru moans below you, his grip on your thighs tightening as you clench around him. he sounds so pathetic, so needy. so pretty. his whole face is dusted a dark pink shade and he can't wipe the big smile from his lips; it's so good and so overwhelming – this isn't going to be his first orgasm of the night. but he's trying his best to last, for you and for him. he wants to be a good boy.

it's already much to have him nestled inside you but now that suguru's pressing his leaky tip against you – your breathing picks up again. you really can't help it; you want to do it, you really fucking do but it's a little scary. what if you actually can't take it? what if it's going to hurt? what if you—

"you have to stop thinking so much, sweetheart."

suguru's lips brush against the shell of your ear as he wraps his hand around your chest, pulling you back against him. "i'm sorry."

he lets out a quiet raspy chuckle.

"don't say sorry, angel." his fingers inch up your body until they're wrapped around your throat instead. he doesn't squeeze, he just keeps you there close to him. and then he's whispering into your skin again, against your temple. "you're doing so good for me."

over your body, suguru's dark purple eyes meet satoru's big azure ones. "for us."

the white-haired man's hips buck up on instict and your jaw falls slack in a silent moan. suguru thinks about teasing you, about mocking you a little more but since it is your first time, he decides to hold back. he does think you're awfully cute like this though, all blissed out already – covered in sweat and hickeys, remnants of satoru's cum still smeared all over your chin. it's a fucking mess and suguru loves it.

he grabs onto your jaw and cranes your neck to the side, pressing his lips onto yours in a searing kiss. nothing turns him on more than having all the power, so seeing his two loves fucked out like this is all he truly craves. and he's not even done. he can taste satoru on your tongue; he hums into your mouth at the memory of him gathering some of satoru's cum onto his finger and letting you lick it clean.

under you, satoru keeps slowly grinding his hips into yours. neither of the men are actually thinking about their own needs, their minds set to making you relax. to making you cum. to making you see stars. to making you reach that true euphoric state of bliss.

but it is hard. how could he not be nearing his own release again when he can see suguru sucking on your tongue? he can see it. oh, and how he wants a taste, too. both, we needs you both. so, he grabs onto your wrist, gently trying to tug you down to him but he stops the second suguru's eyes meet his again.

suguru pulls away from you and his lips stretch into that infamous wolfish grin when you chase after him with your eyes still closed. adorable.

"c'mon, you have to give something to satoru, too, or he'll die."

his tone is as teasing as ever and you feel satoru twitch inside your cunt. but he's still holding onto you – he presses your cheeks together while staring into your eyes. it's intimate. it's way too fucking hot. you're starting to feel dizzy from all the attention and he knows it. it's exactly what he wants. to have you melting all over him.

when he finally lets you go, satoru's quick to tug you down by your arms and smashing his lips against yours. it's his turn to taste himself on your tongue now and the ever-so-faint salty tinge makes him moan into your mouth. he's pawing at your sides like some needy puppy. more and more and more and more. he wants to make you cum, he wants to feel you spasming around him. he wants to hear you, he wants to see you lose yourself right there on top of him.

and it's all about to happen.

because while satoru's clouding your mind with his enthusiasm and his unyielding devotion, suguru's back on the task of filling you up the way you really truly deserve; he gnaws on his own lip as he gives himself a few strokes before lining up his sticky tip with your puckered hole. the presses against it only a little but he can already feel how tight it's going to be. he prepped you of course, with his tongue and with his fingers, but those assets don't compare to his dick even in the slightest.

and it shows when he presses in just an inch and you're already tensing up. but satoru cradles your face like you're something that's about to break, his soft lips molding against yours like they've always meant to be together and when you don't pull away to give him any other signs that you want to stop, the keeps going.

he doesn't rush it. he wants to take it as slow as he can, no matter how much he'd want to just bottom out in one single thrust. he won't, he wouldn't. but fuck, do you feel good around him. he was right, your ass is way tighter and even though suguru doesn't usually struggle to keep his composure, he's crumbling piece by piece, inch by inch.

after taking his tip, you finally seperate from satoru with a loud moan, your eyes screwed shut at the unfamiliar sensation. it feels weird. it feels good. satoru traces your jaw with the tips of his fingers while the other moves to give your ass a squeeze, and the simple action has you arching your back and taking another few inches of suguru with a filthy mewl.

suguru curses under his breath, his own gaze glued to where you're connected. the way you're just swallowing him, pulling him in without him really even doing anything. it's one of the hottest fucking things he's ever seen and now that he has seen it – he knows he needs more. he's addicted.

he spits down onto your asshole and then proceeds to smear it all around the hole and the shaft of his cock. he feels some of it drip down onto your pussy and then onto satoru's already slick covered balls, and it really is so fucking messy that it makes him salivate.

he digs his fingers into your waist and presses in another inch but immediately stops when you glance over your shoulder and whisper the word 'yellow' to him. slower. suguru knows it can be a lot and you've taken so much of him already, so he instead of pushing further, he pulls back.

a moan rips out of satoru's throat. he can feel suguru moving inside you and it's nothing he's ever felt before. suguru's dick is rubbing against his and now you're even tighter than before and oh, fuck you're so fucking warm and so good and he's so close. you watch as his eyes roll to the back of his head and lunge at his neck in a desperate way to give him more.

sharp teeth nip at his throat and satoru's about to lose his fucking mind. but it's not like you're doing any better either – suguru only gives you a minute, if not even less, before speeding up just a tad. he's fucking your ass and you swear you can feel him in your throat despite him only using a bit more than his tip. the knot in your lower tummy grows tighter, the bands getting ready to snap with every skillful stroke suguru makes. he knows exactly how much to give you and how to angle his hips and you get the proof of this when he places his foot down onto the bed and grabs onto your forearms, pulling you flush against him again, leaving a pouty satoru staring up at the two of you with his big teary eyes.

"do you wanna cum, satoru?" suguru's own desperation shines through his raspy voice as he growls from behind you. "hm? want to fill her up?"

satoru's nodding his head so strongly that his own vision blurs for a second. his hands find your thighs again, his grip strong enough to bruise your tender skin and while suguru's holding you to his chest, you're stuck clawing at his forearm, pleading and begging for more. he laughs at the both of you. "say please."

"please— "

you and satoru speak up at the same time, unsure of who was supposed to be the one answering in the first place and suguru doesn't even try to hold back the mocking laugh that spills from his lips. but shame and embarrassment don't exist in your heads anymore – they can't, when you're both ready to cry out of pure pleasure. it's all you know at this point.

suguru's pace has yet to falter – his hips jerk forward at a delicious pace, his cock sliding back and forth inside your warm walls. he keeps thinking about cumming inside and filling you up like he promised. and then he wants to watch it drip out of you and mix with satoru's cum. with yours. he wants to kiss it, too. the mess you've all made together. suguru thinks its going to be a masterpiece. fuck, he's been fucking his fist to the thought of this for months now and it's a still a little hard to believe that's actually happening.

satoru grip on you is so strong that he's now just kind of pinching your thighs in his delirium but you don't want him to stop. this is new – the pain feels so good and it's only adding on to all of the other factors that are pushing you closer and closer to your edge. and then suguru moves to grab your breast into his big hand and it's enough. it's more than enough.

your body freezes up as the orgasm shoots through you. you can't even moan properly, the feeling just way too much for you to comprehend. tears swell in the corners of your eyes but suguru's tongue is quick to collect them before they can go to waste.

satoru's the next go fall – he throws his head back into the pillows, showing off his beautifully marked up neck in the process. he slams his hips into yours, as deep as he can possible go, while letting out the most pornographic moan you've ever heard. his whole body trembles just like yours and you reach for his hand in your fucked out daze, intertwining your fingers with his as suguru helps you both ride out your highs.

but he's not far behind either. looking at the both of you, feeling the both of you is all he needs and then he's already finishing inside you with a deep, low groan. "fuck... "

he gives you a couple of more pumps before slowly pulling out. his lips part in delight, his eyes growing impossibly darker when he sees his dream turn into his reality. cum oozes out from your abused hole and it trickles down to your cunt, to where satoru's still nestled inside you. he has no intent of removing himself from you; it's quite the opposite really as his arms snake around your middle, successfully gluing your sweaty body to his while you try to catch your breath for the nth time today.

suguru watches as all three of your juices merge together. he licks his lips. and then he's leaning forward and pressing a kiss to where satoru and you are connected. a dirty smirk etches its way onto suguru's face when he hears you actually squeal in a high-pitched voice, your body twitching at his actions. but that only edges him on – he licks a strip up starting from the underside of satoru's balls and over his shaft and your cunt and all the way to your puckered hole. he gives your ass a faint smack and then proceeds to pull your cheeks apart, while making his next plan of action. he can't get enough of how much you're both whining his name, how neither of you don't seem to know whether you're asking for him to stop or continue on.

it's not like he really cares though. you've both gotten what you needed, so he reckons it's his time to eat all he wants now. he deserves a treat too, right?

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